


The Frat AU

by circadian_rythm, Feynite, LycheePit, scurvaliciousbay, SeleneLavellan



Series: Frat AU [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feynite Fanwork, Fraternities & Sororities, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 08:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 170,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circadian_rythm/pseuds/circadian_rythm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LycheePit/pseuds/LycheePit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: The original mass collaboration, free-for-all, everyone-in-the-pool Modern AU fic.It begins with Thenvunin and some shorts.





	1. Sharkbait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this monster! Okay, so, this is far from all the contributions - there are writers on tumblr I'm not sure how to find on AO3 who wrote snippets, made art, and contributed to the headcanons/world-building of this series. This is also only the main part, not including Next Gen, previous generations, the Reincarnation AU, or anything along those lines. Also, a lot of this stuff was written sporadically, so expect some non-linear storytelling and weird pacing. I tried to put segments into rough chronological order, but there may be mistakes. Chapters are, for the most part, grouped together segments that were independent snippets on tumblr. If you're a co-creator and you want to be added to a chapter so you can edit in a segment or anything along those lines, lemme know! <3

“Bro. Bro, I was at Venavismi’s yester eve, and some human chicks rolled in with Adannar from Red Moon Kappa Kai. I’d never seen a human chick up close before. Their ears were  _weird,_  bro! Round! All the way around! Like I’d seen it on YouTube before but it’s trippy to try and make out with them. They aren’t sensitive there  _at all_. Like what even is going on with that? Do they even hear? Wild. Anyway you got any more of that righteous spring water on you? I am parched from frolicking like a  _tiger_  this morning. Got in some good meadow dancing after my morning workout, but the public water fountain was busted. Only gave up like a splash before it died, and I needed to hydrate this little robin bro who was learning how to fly.”

Uthvir pauses at the sound of the voice, and turns to watch as a tall, broad-shouldered elf in a purple shirt accepts a drink from an art student in some of the tightest pants they have ever seen in their life.

Somehow, despite this, their gaze drifts insistently back to the frat boy in purple. Who is wearing some appreciably tiny work-out shorts himself. He takes a drink from his water bottle, as a few droplets trickle down his throat, and then sighs and shakes his head.

“You’re a lifesaver, bro.”

“Don’t mention it,” the art student replies. “Want to head out to the music festival? Vic’s taking me later.”

The frat elf raises his eyebrow.

“On his bike? Pretty tight fit for me to squeeze on with you two,” he replies, dubiously.

“You have a car, Thenvunin. We can just meet there,” the art student says. “Or go with Adannar. Or Vena and Elanna. Or we can all go together. I don’t actually  _have_  to ride everywhere on the back of Victory’s bike.”

“Look, bro, I just don’t want any more repeats of that time at the supermarket, alright? I mean I like Vic and all but he’s a big, muscle-y dude. And I’m a big, muscle-y dude. There’s only so much room on those seats, y’know? Like people at that stop light were looking at us like we were the bread in an Aelynthi sandwich, and that is  _not_  a place I want people’s thoughts going. It’s, like, depraved and stuff.”

“Don’t be uptight,” ‘Aelynthi’ replies, smacking Thenvunin on the arm. Then he hops down from the bench he’s sitting on. “I have to get to class. Are you coming tonight or not?”

Thenvunin shrugs.

“I dunno, bro. Gotta see which way the wind blows. I’ll text you,” he decides.

Uthvir watches as the art student departs, and takes another moment to admire the flex of the frat elf’s throat as he drains the last of the water bottle. He moves to toss it into a nearby recycling bin, and there’s the jangle of a ringtone. Swan Lake. Uthvir blinks as the elf answers it with a negligent gesture.

“Sup?” he says. Then he stills. “Mamae!” he exclaims, his voice completely changing. He darts a look around, and Uthvir immediately pretends to be engrossed in the fliers on the outdoor community board. After a few moments the frat elf moves away; but not so far away that Uthvir can’t still hear him, distantly.

“Yes, I got it! Thank you so much for the lotions, the air here is so  _dry._  My skin is doing horribly, I was terrified my elbows were going to start flaking, and then I wouldn’t be able to wear sleeveless shirts. Those are an important fashion statement with certain groups around campus, and my RA is  _very strict_ about everyone’s appearance,” Thenvunin says, well-spoken and obviously just a little bit homesick.

Uthvir boggles again; strangely impressed, and not just a little fascinated.

“I know. No, I was just studying. Aelynthi invited me to some music thing tonight but I’m not sure if I’ll go. Mmhmm. Mmhmm. I miss you too, Mamae. Love you.”

They barely hear the soft ‘click’ as he hangs up, and tucks the phone back into the tiny pocket of his tiny shorts.  Then he shakes his head, and starts back in the opposite direction he had moved away in; heading back to where Uthvir still is, his expression distracted. The long muscles in his legs working with each step.

Uthvir waits until he is nearly past, before leaning against the post by the board, and letting out a chuckle.

Thenvunin pauses.

“Something funny, br… oh,” he says, turning towards them and then cutting off. His gaze darts over their figure, from the spikes in their hair to the spikes on their boots, lingering for a moment on the exposed skin of their biceps before trailing across their chest, and then up to their face.

Uthvir smirks.

“Give me your number,” they ask.

Thenvunin straightens his shoulders.

“What for, sib?”

They shrug.

“So we can maybe meet up and fuck sometime?” they suggest. “Tonight, even, if you would rather spend your evening away from the back of someone else’s boyfriend’s bike. You can tell him you got tied up with other things.”

Thenvunin’s face turns adorably red, and his mouth opens and closes a few times. He glances around, but no one else is close enough to overhear.

“That’s  _hella_  presumptuous, sib! Not cool!” he finally sputters. “You don’t just walk up to someone in the middle of the day and get all – with – were you raised in, like, a barn?! Like I mean I enjoy a good time as much as the next guy, but you can’t just spring that on a bro! Well. Maybe  _you_  can, but like… do you lift?”

They raise an eyebrow.

“Probably more than you do,” they offer. Then they shrug. “But if you’re not interested, you’re not interested…”

They get maybe two steps away before he stops them.

“Hold up, sib!” he calls, and moves closer again. Shifting from foot to foot. One of his hands reaches for the knot of his ponytail. “I mean, it’s not cool, and all, but I guess it would be rude not to give you my number. Just in case you need it, or something. Like sometimes things happen. So I guess we could exchange digits. Not that I’m saying we should hook up! But I’m not  _not_  saying we should hook up. And all. So. Yeah.”

He fumbles his phone out of his pocket, and then drops it.

Uthvir’s hand snaps out and catches it before it can hit the pavement. The move puts them much lower down, and they let their eyes trail up Thenvunin’s form as they straighten. They grin, as they give him their number, and he spits out his own and hastily takes his phone back. His throat bobbing, and his cheeks still flushed.

“Okay. Cool. Cool,” he says.

“I like your shorts,” Uthvir offers.

Said shorts begin to tent distinctively at the front.

Without a word, Thenvunin turns, and takes off in a dead run. Leaving them to snicker uncontrollably for a few minutes.

What a treat.

 

~

 

Thenvunin’s eyes are wide as Uthvir puts the weight down.

“Sib,” he breathes. The front of his shirt is still open. For some reason he had insisted that Uthvir prove they could lift more than him before going to bed with them. They are still not entirely sure why; but the way his hips are angling in those jeans looks promising. “Sib, you’re  _so strong._  You’re stronger than me! You could probably pin me down and I’d never be able to get up.”

Uthvir smirks.

“I’m pretty sure  _something_  would get up,” they say, and Thenvunin turns eight different shades of red. He swallows, and his head tilts back just a little bit, as Uthvir moves closer towards him. Their arms are still a little strained; they shake out the muscles, first, before sliding a hand across his firm waist.

He practically swoons, and almost goes limp. For half a second Uthvir thinks they should just bare him down to the floor, but they are in a public gym; not the most secure of locations.

“So,” they purr, instead. “Your place or mine?”

 

~

 

For half a second, Uthvir actually thinks Thenvunin might be out jogging  _naked._

They see him running his circuit past a bench, and all they get is long, bare torso, and long, bare legs, and they nearly trip over their own boots (Glory keeps telling them that they should run  _barefoot_  like ha ha,  _no_ ) and have to look away to regain focus.

When they look back, though, it’s pretty clear that Thenvunin’s not naked.

He’s wearing the tiniest powder-pink work out shorts known to elven kind, but he’s not  _naked._

Uthvir’s pretty sure they could reach a hand into those shorts without encountering hardly anything in the way of resistance, though, so they’re not sure it’s much of an improvement. Thenvunin hasn’t quite taken them up on their offer yet, though they’ve been getting sporadic texts from him and went for drinks a couple of times. He’s yet to give them a clear ‘yes’, though, so the verdict’s still out on a lot of fronts.

Still.

Uthvir veers towards him on their own run, watching his ponytail sway as he runs in his obscene shorts and  _matching shoes_.

Matching pink and yellow running shoes.

They’re almost distracted by them, but it’s frankly hard to be distracted by anything other than Thenvunin’s physical form when he’s in motion. His muscles propelling him along, his broad stride actually making it tricky for Uthvir to keep pace. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” they say, when they can manage to get out a few words without the run distorting their voice too badly.

Thenvunin glances at them, and his already-flushed face darkens.

“It’s a free park, sib. Gotta get my run in. Half-ass workouts don’t cut it for leg day, not if you want a bod like mine.”

“Hmm. Well I  _do_  want your body,” Uthvir agrees, and then it’s Thenvunin’s turn to nearly trip over himself; his pace slows a little and he actually makes a motion like he’s going to cover his chest. Before his hands fall back to his sides again, and he resumes running.

“Not cool, sib!” he protests. “You can’t just make a bro feel like a piece of meat in the middle of his workout! Like, control your libido, please. I know I’m a prize but I gotta finish my run, I can’t be fending off your inappropriate sexual advances all the time!”

Uthvir snickers, but backs off a little. They give him some space, sticking to a clear side of the track so that he can take any of the turn offs if he actually wants to be rid of them. He keeps more or less alongside them, though, until he finally slows down, and then works his way to a halt next to one of the water fountains. Uthvir takes a sip from the bottle they brought, as Thenvunin  _leans_  over the stone basin.

His shorts ride up.

They grin, and swallow a purr of approval at the new curvature revealed, before Thenvunin curses.

“This one, too?!” he complains. “What the hell? This park is shit. Someone in city planning or whatever should get  _fired._  Now I’m parched and I can’t even hydrate, this is a disaster! Are we living in some post apocalyptic wasteland? Is that’s what’s happened? Because that’s what it feels like when a bro can’t even get a drink of water after his run!”

It takes Uthvir a minute to realize that the drinking fountain isn’t running.

They consider for a moment, and then tap Thenvunin’s bicep with their water bottle.

“Here,” they say.

Thenvunin turns, and glances at the bottle; and then at them. He hesitates, just a moment, before taking the offering and drinking a mouthful with a relieved sigh. Uthvir’s glad to help, but they make a mental note - watch this guys’ drinks at parties for him. And then they almost forget it all over, as they watch his throat bob, and a tiny trickle of water spill down towards his chin.

“Thanks, sib,” he says, and wipes the rim before handing the bottle back to them.

Uthvir takes another swig, and winks, and feels a rush of delight as Thenvunin’s gaze focuses on their mouth and he  _bites his lip._

“If it  _was_  a post-apocalyptic wasteland, I would share my supplies with you,” Uthvir tells him, grinning.

“O-oh…” Thenvunin replies, shuffling a little. He glances around the park, and then swallows, and straightens his ponytail. “Have you eaten? I had a shake before I set out but I should probably get some more carbs in me. There’s a noodle stand that offers student discounts, I could buy you a cup. Just. Um. Lemme swing by my car and get my stuff.”

Uthvir taps the rim of the water bottle against their mouth, and grins.

“I’ll walk with you,” they offer.

Or maybe  _slightly_  behind.

Just to watch his back, and all.

 

~

 

They go back to Uthvir’s place.

Which is probably a good thing, because about five minutes into it all, Uthvir realizes that Thenvunin has… basically no clue. No lube, no  _condoms,_  and some really weird ideas about how things are supposed to go.

“So, you got the right to top,” he says, with a nervous hitch that’s not all excitement in his voice. “Because you’re stronger, right? Are you older? When’s your birthday?”

Uthvir blinks, and takes a second to process that.

“What?” they ask. What does stronger or older have to do with anything?

Thenvunin fidgets, a little. He’s sitting on the edge of Uthvir’s bed, with his hair loose around his shoulders, and his shirt still open. He lets out a breath, and Uthvir can’t tell if he’s really, really looking forward to this, or if he’s terrified.

…Huh.

The frat elf’s brow furrows, and then his gaze drifts down towards Uthvir’s crotch.

“Do you… I mean, I don’t want to be rude, and all, but… what kind of…?”

They raise an eyebrow.

“Depends on my mood,” they offer.

Thenvunin swallows, and still looks as nervous as not.

“I guess you’re running the show anyway, since you can lift more and all. But. Um. If it’s… c-could we do it, without… I mean, I just. I’ve got classes tomorrow so. That’s a lot of time sitting. I don’t want it hurting, y’know?”

The last sentence comes out very quiet, and Uthvir feels a sudden, surprisingly visceral desire to find out who Thenvunin’s last lover was and go tear them a new asshole. They freeze, and their brain quickly cycles through several gears as they contemplate aborting this entire endeavour, fleeing into the night, going to find Desire and throwing her at Thenvunin, going and finding  _Glory_ and actually hunting down Thenvunin’s last paramour, and…

They walk over, and tilt his head so they can kiss him.

It’s their first kiss, actually. Thenvunin’s breath stalls. His lips are narrow. Warm, and just a little dry. They keep it simple, and some of the rigidity eases from Thenvunin’s shoulders. His hands hover awkwardly mid-air for a few seconds.

They pull back.

“I don’t think riding you would be a chore for me,” they murmur. “As long as you don’t mind if I keep my boots on.”

Thenvunin lets out a breath.

“Not a problem, sib,” he says, and pretty much goes limp.

Uthvir pushes him back towards the bed, and then goes and fishes a condom out of their bag, along with some lube. Thenvunin’s still entirely dressed when they come back - open shirt notwithstanding - so they get things going by popping up the button on his fly. His throat bobs, and he closes his eyes, and throws an arm over them like he’s bracing for an ordeal.

They hesitate, leaving his zipper untouched, and climb up a little closer to his face. Propping themselves up over him, until that arm inches down a little again, and he blinks at them.

He’s got gorgeous eyes.

“Hey,” Uthvir says. “Want to go see a movie?”

Thenvunin blinks.

“What?” he asks.

“A movie,” Uthvir replies, nudging his shoulder. 

There’s a pause.

“You mean, like… after…?” Thenvunin asks.

“Yeah. After. What kind of movies do you like?” they ask, and carefully move their lips to the exposed side of his neck. The arm eases further away, as Thenvunin speaks and looks towards them. He shivers just a bit at the first brush of their mouth against him.

“Um. Y’know. Action movies, I guess? I mean, definitely. Action movies. With lots of explosions and stuff,” Thenvunin says. “And some documentaries are pretty cool. They had a thing on penguins, I’m not sure if they’re still showing it. Penguins are such bros though. They can’t fly but they’re still birds, they just… um. Yeah. They swim, instead… little tuxedo bros…”

Uthvir keeps trailing kisses across his neck, and jaw, and then up to his ear. His shampoo smells nice, they decide. His breath hitches as they draw their teeth over the tip of his ear. Nibbling a bit, before sweeping their kisses back to the corner of his jaw. They settle a little more firmly against him, and press a hand to his waist. But that has him stiffening again, a pretty obvious bundle of nerves.

 _Penguins, huh?_  

“I don’t think that one’s still showing,” they muse, apologetically. “There’s a new one up on flowers.”

“O-oh…” Thenvunin breathes. Despite his stiff upper body, he’s starting to move just a tiny bit. His hips shift, and one of his hands flexes over top of Uthvir’s sheets. His hair falls over their pillow; the sunlight from the window keeps catching in a few fly-aways he’s got. “Flowers… that’s, uh. Flowers can be… well, I mean, they’re part of elvhen heritage, sib, don’t wanna discount that or anything, right?”

“I think we should go,” Uthvir decides, and they sit up, and kiss the corner of Thenvunin’s mouth. They put the lube and the condom onto the over-turned milk crate they’ve been using for a nightstand, and then throw one of their legs over Thenvunin and clamber off of the narrow mattress. Stopping on the way to re-fasten his fly.

They give his thigh an appreciative pat.

Thenvunin blinks, and then shifts some more, and looks bewildered and nervous.

“Is this because I asked for…? I mean… If you really want to do it the other way…”

Uthvir shakes their head, and shoves their wallet back into their pocket, before checking their phone’s charge.

“No, it’s just that they usually only do a few showings of the documentaries in the day, and the next one’s in twenty minutes,” they reply, calling up the website for the nearest theatre and presenting the evidence to Thenvunin. “I think we should go see it while we can. Then we can come back, and if you’re still in the mood, I can ride you into next week.”

A documentary on  _flowers._ That’s going to be tedious, they think. What are they even doing?

Thenvunin lets out a breath, and still seems confused. But they’re not about to just… they don’t just… they’re not a  _monster,_  and he’s clearly not ready. And they don’t know how to have the ‘it’s not supposed to hurt and whoever told you all of these bullshit rules was lying’ type conversation with him yet. That’s a pretty rough conversation; and they’ve only known him for a few weeks.

So.

Movie.

That should buy them… they check the runtime, and suppress a wince. Two and a half hours, to figure it out.

Thenvunin fidgets. But after a minute, he starts closing the front of his shirt.

“Okay. But we should probably get something to eat, too. Just since we’re heading out and all. I’m not good if I skip meals, especially not if I’m gonna be… doing… physically strenuous stuff.”

“Yes!” Uthvir readily agrees. “We can have dinner. Absolutely. My treat.” That should get them  _at least_  another twenty minutes. Maybe they can even text Squish and figure out what the hell they’re going to do.  _Help, my hot new hook-up is maybe possibly sexually traumatized and doesn’t even seem to realize it._  

Thenvunin blinks, and then his cheeks colour, and his throat bobs again.

“Does that mean you changed your mind about…?”

Uthvir waits.

He shifts around some more.

“I mean, if you’re paying… that’s not so I’ll just, like… not that I…” he trails off, and they feel a fresh rush of anger. Because they’re  _paying,_  he thinks it would be socially acceptable for them to just roll him over and perform a sex act he’s not comfortable with on him?

“Do you want to split the bill instead?” they try.

Thenvunin lets out a long breath.

“Yeah, sib. You out-lifted me; gotta spare me  _some_  dignity,” he tells them.

Uthvir resists the urge to punch the wall.

They open the door instead.

“After you,” they say. And as Thenvunin passes, they can’t resist curling a hand around his hip. He blinks, and swallows again, but he doesn’t object as they set off once more. So Uthvir lets it stay there for a while. Their hackles are all up.

In the end, they make it through the movie - which is dull, but it’s pretty to look at - and then to dinner at a cheap little Tevene place. Thenvunin talks about the documentary with way more familiarity towards the subject matter than someone with a passing interest should probably have, and then veers off into babbling on about the impact of the cultivation of various types of flora on the fashion industries in different parts of the world. Occasionally breaking it up to reassert that he’s ‘only kind of interested anyway, sib’.

By the time it’s all said and done, Glory’s back in their room and it’s getting pretty late, so they opt to reschedule that whole ‘sex’ thing. Thenvunin hesitates for a moment before leaving them at their door with an awkward wave and a ‘later, sib’. 

Uthvir lets out a breath of mingled relief and disappointment, ignoring their cooling libido as they drop onto their bed.

Glory looks up from their textbook.

“Something wrong?”

Uthvir considers.

“The incredibly hot elf I was planning on having wild sex with thinks I want to hurt him,” they say.

Glory raises an eyebrow.

“Like, ‘break his heart’ hurt him, or like, ‘punch him in the kidney’ hurt him?”

They sigh.

“Like, ‘anal sex without lube’ hurt him?” they offer, and then wince when the textbook goes  _thud._

 _“What the hell?”_  Glory demands. “What did you say to him?”

“It wasn’t  _me,”_  Uthvir hisses back, uncommonly defensive. “It was some other piece of shit! Possibly multiple pieces of shit. Some kind of awful conga line of bastards. I didn’t ask, I was too busy trying to get him to calm down and stop asking if I would please consider not  _reaming him_  so he could make it through classes tomorrow!”

Glory is quiet for a moment. They have that look in their eye, though. The one they get whenever they’re thinking of a certain Event.

“You should find out who it was,” Uthvr’s older sibling finally decides. “And then Squish and I can go avenge… what’s his name?”

They sigh.

“Thenvunin.”

“Dear Thenvunin.”

“You haven’t even met him,” they feel compelled to point out. “Don’t call him that. And could you at least help me figure out how I’m supposed to handle this? He’s  _scared.”_

Glory shrugs, at that.

“I don’t know, I’m not a therapist. Ask Squish.”

“Should have done that from the beginning,” Uthvir mutters, and fishes out their phone.

Useless sibling, never good for anything except plotting trouble and stealing the limelight. Not that those things don’t have their benefits, but  _still…_

Desire will know. Desire actually has social skills.

 

~

 

Desire tells them to just go slow and ‘keep the lines of communication open’, which is something Uthvir already knew and was already doing, and is not, in fact, a magic solution that fixes everything.

Wonderful.

It’s almost like there’s no easy answer to this kind of situation.

 

~

 

Uthvir’s phone buzzes angrily from beneath their pillow. They fish it out - the only plug near enough for it to charge is by their bed - as Desire makes grumbling noises from Glory’s bed across the room, and rolls over.

Uthvir blinks blearily at a text from Thenvunin.

‘pls come have sex with him his bird just died and he is sad’.

It takes a moment for the gears in their brain to shift to the realization that Thenvunin  _probably_  did not send that text himself. They last time they saw him for one of their meet-ups was a week ago. He’d been a little more distracted than usual, as they recall. It had gotten them wondering if he was becoming bored with them.

An unexpectedly unpleasant thought.

Mostly because  _anyone_  getting bored with them would be frustrating, of course.

But after their usual activities were concluded - with gusto - Thenvunin had shown Uthvir a picture on his phone. It was of a ridiculously vivid purple songbird; the kind you had to buy from fancy pet stores in Arlathan.

“That’s one of mine, sib. One of my oldest birds. She’s staying back home while I’m at school, ‘cause her breed needs a lot of space to fly around and she can’t get that here. Plus she needs visits from a vet she isn’t gonna try and maul every five minutes. Her name’s Nightingale.”

Uthvir had blinked.

“You named your bird after another kind of bird?” they had asked.

“Of course, sib. Birds are awesome,” Thenvunin had asserted. Then he’d smiled like a dope at the picture, which seemed pretty normal, so Uthvir had just been relieved for that.

But now their brain puts together  _vet visits_  and  _one of my oldest birds,_  and they read the text again before sighing and hauling themselves up out of bed.

‘omw’ they thumb back. 

They fish a pair of pants up off the floor, and double-check their wallet’s in the pocket before shoving their phone in the other one, and yanking on their boots. They grab their jacket off the lamp, while Desire shuffles around to look at them. Glory’s off with Happy doing an all-nighter. Which of course left Squish to sulk and burrow into her fiance’s bed like some lovelorn badger.

“Where are you going?” Squish asks them, blearily.

“It’s an emergency. I have to go have sex with Thenvunin,” they reply.

She snorts.

“Loooove doctor,” she murmurs into their sibling’s pillow. “Do your genitals have ancient magic healing powers? Is that like a family thing, because I can believe Glory’s do.”

Uthvir wrinkles their nose.

“Firstly, no. Secondly, ew. And thirdly, how  _high_  did you get before you came here?”

Desire makes a so-so gesture with one hand, before sighing and falling back asleep, it seems.

Uthvir rolls their eyes and finally gets out of the door.

By the time they make it to Thenvunin’s, the scene is this: Thenvunin, wearing Duck Dodgers pyjama pants and a worn, sleeveless shirt, is bawling. His hair is a mess, and there are more pictures of the songbird on the screen of his laptop, which is open on his bed beside him. Aelynthi is making sympathetic noises and looks  _sincerely_  relieved when he finally lets Uthvir in. He’s dressed like he’s planning to go to another music festival, but near as Uthvir can tell, Aelynthi is  _always_  dressed like he’s planning to go to another music festival.

“Listen,” he says, as Thenvunin seems so caught up in his misery that he hasn’t even  _noticed_  Uthvir yet. “The only things he has talked about for the past three months have been you, his work outs, and the bird that just died. I’m not driving his ass out to the gym, I need to go and get drunk with someone who can listen to  _my_  problems. So congrats, you’re his remedy. If you make things worse I’ll end you.”

Uthvir blinks as the skinny elf pokes them in the shoulder, and then shoots one last glance back towards Thenvunin before making his way out of the door. Uthvir watches him go, and then looks at their favourite hook-up partner, and lets out a sigh.

They shut the door.

Thenvunin sniffs as they settle onto the mattress next to him, and then does a double-take and nearly falls off the bed.

“Uthvir?!”

“Hey, babe,” they greet, gently. Reaching up, they brush his ponytail back from his shoulder, and then grip it with their hand. “Nightingale, huh?”

Thenvunin’s lip wobbles; and then he buries his face into his hands and starts sobbing again. Huge, wracking sobs that Uthvir actually feels pretty badly about. They probably shouldn’t have said the bird’s name? A noise escapes them, creeping up out of the back of their throat. This is like when that asshole killed Glory’s cat, they decide. Except that Glory had wanted to commit arson, but Thenvunin’s probably just going to stick to the weeping part of the process.

Which is good. Uthvir doesn’t have any kerosene handy tonight.

They run their palm down Thenvunin’s back, and after a few minutes he somehow ends up in their lap; arms curled around their waist as he bawls against one of their pockets. They pull up a scrap of his bed sheets to wipe his cheeks with every so often, and brush his hair out of his face; pulling out his ponytail and carefully re-tying it for him.

“She was,” Thenvunin shakily manages, after a few minutes. “She was the best, sib. She used to make the prettiest songs. She would serenade me after I had a bad day. She always knew when I needed it, and I wasn’t even there for her when she…”

“Shh,” Uthvir soothes. Thenvunin’s voice is steadily losing its frat boy cadence, and for some reason, that’s making them Feel Things. They brush their hand down his back again while he clings to them. 

“My mother set up Skype,” he breathes, after a few minutes. “I got to sing to her. Before…”

“Well, there you go,” Uthvir says, gently. “She heard you. That’s the most important things for birds, right? Sound? So she probably thought you were right there.”

Thenvunin sucks in a wobbly breath, and then starts sobbing again. Enough tears that Uthvir’s hip is starting to feel soaked through. They make more soothing noises - or try to; they aren’t sure how effective it is - and keep brushing a hand down his back. The soft fabric of his shirt wrinkling and smoothing under their careful motions.

After a while, Thenvunin’s wrenching sobs start to even out into ragged breaths, and his grip on them goes a bit more lax. The muscles of his shoulders ease, and after a while, Uthvir becomes aware of a soft whistling sound; a tiny little snore, as Thenvunin has apparently cried himself to sleep on them.

They reach over and shut the lid of his laptop. Wincing at the damp fabric clinging to their hip. But somehow they don’t have the heart to coax Thenvunin off of them just yet. So instead they sit there, with his face buried right next to his crotch, willing the tears to dry and listening to his snores whistle.

If anyone asks, though, they are going to say that the two of them just had sex.

 

~

 

Glory is two years older than Uthvir.

Uthvir’s first word was ‘glo’. When they were small, Glory called them ‘sidekick’, or sometimes ‘mini-me’. But they were never really identical. Glory was bright and fair-haired and fierce, delicate and magnetic all at once. Uthvir’s hair was darker, their eyes were darker; the two of them had different fathers, and it showed most in Uthvir’s colouring.

 _Shadow_  started to take over for sidekick as they got older. But come to it, they never thought they cared. Glory was just… Glory. Everyone preferred them. Even Uthvir, a lot of the time. They weren’t perfect, by any stretch of the imagination; they were artsy and sometimes biting, fiery and tempestuous but never petty. Never small, even if they were barely taller than Uthvir. People would meet the two of them, and it would be like Uthvir hardly existed. And Uthvir learned to take advantage of that, to notice things about people when they were busy paying attention to Glory, and to navigate the world with all the advantages of being next-to-invisible whenever they were with their sibling.

It was okay, they thought.

It made sense.

And the people who singled them out tended to… they were not usually the kindest, anyway. They were fourteen the first time Falon’Din caught them walking home from school. They remember the car rolling to a halt, and a beautiful, older teen leaning out and asking them if they wanted a ride.  _Hey, pretty thing. You’re Uthvir, right? Glory’s sibling?_

Glory never found out about that.

They found out about Andruil, though. Dark-haired Andruil, who was so pretty, and who Glory turned down almost as fiercely as they turned down Andruil’s brother.  _No. Fuck off. Not interested. Go jump off a cliff._

Andruil had been a lot smoother than Falon’Din. Uthvir had thought she was otherworldly, had thought she was magnificent, and most egregiously, they’d thought she was kind. When Glory found out it turned into a screaming match between them, and those didn’t happen often. But when Glory was upset they got  _loud_ , and Uthvir found they could match decibels, come to it.  _You don’t know what you’re doing. She’s not nice, Uthvir! She’s a fucking scumbag!_

_Nice people don’t like me anyway, Glory! Not everyone meets their gorgeous fucking true love in grade school!_

They’d thought they might have been in love with Andruil. Andruil had an older sibling who was beautiful and popular, too. Andruil was dark, and shady, and knew how to read people. How to work a situation.

She slept with them twice. Then she got bored.

 _You know no one’s ever going to just pick you, right?_ she had said, after the second time.  _I mean, you’re fun and all, but Glory’s the star. Anyone getting with you is just settling. Second place prize. You’re probably going to end married to some fuckwit who pictures your sibling every time they come. Isn’t that sad?_

 _Is that what you do?_  they’d asked.

She’d laughed.

_Why else do you think I ever gave you the time of day?_

The words stuck with them. Andruil was like that. She could creep up a person’s spine and settle right in the worst of everything, and that was around when Uthvir started to have the dreams about Fear. That was around when things started to really change, and they thought they might have to choose. Whether they were going to stay with their sibling, with Glory and Desire and their mother, or just run off into the night and try to have their own life.

They chose their family, in the end.

Fear whispers,  _no one else will ever love you._   _At least they do._


	2. Glory

Glory and Desire are in the library when they see them.

 

For a moment, they wonder if they’ve stepped into some twisted, alternate universe, before they take careful stock of the physical differences between the remaining brother and the dead one, with a deep breath.

He is speaking comfortably with another elf about something in the corner.

Tanned skin. Fair hair.

 

“Hey,” Glory says, nudging Desire out of her book “Who’s that?”

Desire glances over at the pair that Glory nods towards, and the woman is pointing something out in a book to Dirthamen, who is nodding, but looking at her more than whatever it is she is trying to show him.

 

“Oh. She’s that Dalish girl who got the work-study and scholarship. I don’t really know much about it. Adannar knows her I think, he said she helped him pass Trig last semester.”

 

Glory nods, and Desire stares at them before letting out a heavy sigh “You’re worried.”

 

“It’s unsettling,” they mutter, even as they watch her glance at him when he looks away with a look that clearly implies the interest goes both ways.

 

“You’re projecting,” Desire warns

 

“Well it’s not like it’s some random couple off the street. It’s his damn  _twin_. Same family, same blood, same fucking zygote.”

 

Desire taps her pencil against the top of her notebook a few times “We’ll ask Adannar about it. If nothing else, maybe he could introduce you.”

 

Glory nods, but doesn’t look away from the pair.

Desire tosses a crumpled up ball of paper at their head when they start to zone out.

“Come on. At least study a little today. Then we’ll go back to the room together and get your mind off of things,” she says with a wink.

 

Glory glances back at them, watching as the woman practically runs out of the library muttering something about being late.

 

At least she’s fast, they think.

 

~ 

 

Glory is a murderer.

And, Glory sleeps pretty soundly at night.

Sure, there are some moments when they wonder if killing Falon’Din was really the right way to go. They’ve spent a couple of evenings getting wasted with Desire, wondering about the full picture of taking away another person’s life. But then they remember that conversation they’d stumbled upon, that day they went to go trash Falon’Din’s car for what he did to their cat.

Andruil’s low drawl.

Falon’Din’s derisive laugh.

Glory had stopped dead; sneaking through the Evanuris family’s front garden. The bag on their back was heavy. They remember the leaden feeling that had sunk down, down through to them, to rest at the base of their stomach as they listened. Listened to the two of them talk about Uthvir.

Glory’s plan had changed.

And when they remember that, they don’t feel bad about being a murderer. They don’t even feel bad about making Uthvir and Desire accessories, because come to it, after everything Falon’Din did, he deserved to get killed by them.

They don’t tell Uthvir that, though.

Uthvir still thinks it was all an accident, they’re pretty sure.

Glory watches Selene. Who looks… uncomfortable, now. Unhappy and detached and morose, as opposed to the more relaxed, enchanted expression she’d been sporting the last time Glory saw her. They narrow their eyes, and keep their gaze fixed on the Evanuris until Desire nudges their elbow.

“Relax,” she says. “She could just be having a bad day.”

“He could be stalking her.”

“Well, if he is, then we’ll probably find out about it. And then we can do something about it,” Desire reasons.

Glory’s eyes narrow.

After a few minutes, the love of her life sighs. They glance over. Squish has got her hair done up in loops, and she’s wearing that splotchy green and blue top that makes Glory think of the ocean, with her seashell earrings. She looks like she’s trying to be exasperated with them, and also like she can’t manage it.

“Should I invite her over to come study with us?” Desire suggests.

Glory considers this for a moment, and then nods.

“That would make me feel better,” they decide.

Evanurises are trouble. All of them. Andruil had proven a little less disgustingly reprehensible than her brother, but Glory isn’t going to give her a lot of points for that. That’s a low bar. And Andruil wasn’t Falon’Din’s  _twin._

Selene sits down at the table with them, and smiles. Desire does most of the chatting, as Glory lets their attention slide safely back to the books in front of them. Apparently, Selene works at the library; but her shift’s done and Squish is, of course, the epitome of charm, so she has no problems taking a study break for a little while.

They wonder how Uthvir’s doing. With their new beau, the one from the fraternity. That seems to be holding up. They’re going to have to introduce themselves to him pretty soon, as this rate. Uthvir’s cute as a fucking button, and sweet when they’re not intentionally trying to be a little shit, and they’re probably already attached to this guy.

That could be dangerous.

Except that Thenvunin sounds more or less like the kind of person who needs to go on the Protection List, and he’s the first ‘date’ Uthvir’s ever had who seemed to qualify. Unless he’s somehow figured out Uthvir’s weak points, and is intentionally trying to manipulate them. Like some cheap ass predatory son of a…

Squish pokes their bicep.

“You broke your pencil,” she says.

Glory blinks, and sighs, and picks up another one.

“Rough day…?” Selene ventures, a little uncertainly.

“Not particularly,” Glory replies. Squish nudges them, and they sigh. “Just caught up in my thoughts. You’re in the same social circles as some fraternities, yes? Do you know Thenvunin? My younger sibling has been seeing him lately.”

Selene blinks, but then nods.

“He’s in Adannar’s fraternity,” she confirms. Adannar… well, that’s not a name Glory knows, which bodes well for him. Then something seems to dawn on Selene, and she shifts in her chair a bit more. “I don’t think you have to worry about him. Thenvunin, I mean. He’s a little odd, but, must of the dudebro stuff is just an act. One time he got really drunk and wouldn’t stop crying at videos of birds talking, until Ana distracted him by braiding his hair.”

Glory blinks.

Desire snickers.

“The more I hear about this guy, the more I think I like him,” Squish decides.

After a moment, Glory files the information away under ‘promising’, and then puts that particular issue aside.

“Is that the same fraternity Dirthamen belongs to?” they ask, casually.

“Do you… are you friends with Dirthamen, then?” she wonders. Their attempt at a casual tone probably failed.

“His family is comprised of the worst that elvenkind has to offer, and they are my enemies. I would see their corporate empire reduced to rubble and the whole lot of them turned out on the streets or ironically devoured by dragons with nothing but sincere relish,” Glory asserts. “His brother taught me the value of petty vindictiveness, before he died.”

Desire nods in confirmation.

Selene laughs, then looks uncertainly between the two of them. Then she clears her throat.

“I… didn’t know Dirthamen had a brother,” she says. “I knew he had sisters, though. Doesn’t his family basically own this school?”

“Pretty much,” Glory confirms. “If you have any troubles with them, contact me. I’ve got enough dirt on these pieces of shit to keep the blackmail coffers healthily stocked, and I don’t mind using it for a good cause. Or any excuse, really.”

Squish writes down the contact information for their emergency hotline and website, clicking her sparkly pen and smiling as Selene just looks bemused.

“Well… thank you?” she says.

“You should check out the site, we also have a list of known sex offenders and students who’ve tried to pull shady shit at parties and things,” Desire tells her. “It’s not comprehensive or anything, but we verify the cases ourselves. Glory’s going into journalism, so they’ve got an applicable skill set. The school keeps trying to take it down, but if you get on our mailing list we can tell you whenever we have to move domains.”

“That must take a lot of time,” Selene muses.

“I’d like to say it’s noble work, but mostly we’re fuelled by rage,” Glory admits.

Desire laughs.

“It’s true,” she confirms.

Selene looks just a little uncomfortable, still. But Glory offers her a smile, and at that, she seems to relax.

“Whatever works,” the young woman allows.


	3. More Sharkbait

Uthvir takes Thenvunin to six movies. They have dinner about ten times, and lunch at least four. They meet up in the park some mornings, and there’s always the  _expectation_  that just around the corner, they’re going to go to someone’s room and have sex.

But then they just…

Uthvir hasn’t made-out this many times with someone without getting a hand down their pants since they were sixteen, alright?

Or possibly ever.

It’s possible they haven’t  _ever_  made-out with someone this many times, because Uthvir is blatantly one-night-stand material. They know. They’ve been told. Andruil once gave them a shirt that said as much, before she lost their number.

Not like kissing Thenvunin’s a hardship, though. And they’re pretty sure he’s come in his pants at least once. That one time they got really hands-y at one of Venavismi’s parties, before some sour-faced elf with a grudge against good times showed up and started hitting them with a broom. 

So, things are… going someplace. Uthvir thinks. Maybe?

In thick of all this misfired one-night stands that seem to feature an oddly high percentage of conversation and entertaining activities, and a dearth of actual sex, they show up at the park one morning to find that Thenvunin’s already running his circuit. Headphones in, legs pumping. He’s wearing his purple running shoes today, and the tiniest yellow tank top Uthvir has ever seen in their life - his abs are on full display - and… 

Purple shorts.

Tiny purple shorts.

With… ducks on them.

Uthvir marvels for a moment, before settling into their own routine. They’re a little half-hearted about it this morning, though. Physical conditioning is all well and good, but most of their whole ‘ridiculous strength’ thing actually comes from that teensie little life detail of being an unholy abomination. So they stake out a spot on one of the park benches instead, and watch Thenvunin’s ducks run.

When he’s finally finished, Thenvunin slows to a halt down by their bench. He went further than usual today, they think. He’s sweating and red and exhausted, and he plants his hands on his thighs. Uthvir can see his nipples through his shirt.

They hand him a bottle of water, and Thenvunin can’t even manage to articulate his thanks. He just nods, and gestures a little, before downing the whole bottle. Then he slumps against the bench beside them.

“Day off,” he pants. Breathless, as his chest rises and falls. “Thought I should try and beat my record, y’know?”

“Did you?” Uthvir asks.

Thenvunin shakes his head, and looks disappointed about it.

They point at his crotch.

“Are those new shorts?” they ask.

He sucks in a breath, and then nods. Shifting a little. They’ve managed to bunch up a bit over the course of his workout, getting caught in the crease of his thighs; shimmering little ducks all trapped near his waistline, with the broad stretch of his legs on full display.

Uthvir trails a hand up his thigh. They can’t really contain their amusement. Duck shorts. They look barely one step away from boxers.

“Do… uh. Do you like ‘em, sib?” Thenvunin wonders, and then looks like he wants to swallow his tongue.

They grin.

“I think they’re  _irresistible,”_ they say. “Want to head back to my place? It should be all clear.”

Thenvunin’s eyes widen, and he licks his lips.

“Uh. Yeah. I just… I should probably shower? I’m all… all sweat-y, and…”

“It’s good,” Uthvir assures him. “You’d just sweat more anyway.”

They stand up, and then reach for his hand to help him up off the bench. He keeps hold of it as they make their way to the parking lot; still a little unsteady on his feet after all that exertion. It’s probably a testament to how exhausted he is that he lets Uthvir drive his car; but their dorm isn’t all that far.

And it’s blessedly empty.

They tie a sock on the door, and draw Thenvunin to the bed. Waiting for his nerves to come racing back, but he seems to be too tired. He slumps against their pillow, and they slip a hand up through the leg of his shorts. 

The ducks are  _shimmery._

They kiss his thigh, and taste salty sweat, and in a move that doesn’t really feel like it’s exceptional after all this, they close their hand around his cock.

Soft skin; and it doesn’t feel like there are any odd bumps or rashes or anything to worry about. Thenvunin’s breath stutters and then comes out again all in a rush, and he picks up their pillow and covers his face with it.

“Thenvunin,” they sigh. “What are you doing? Trying to smother yourself?”

He makes a sound of protest.

“No,” he says, and moves it aside again for a moment. “Of course not, sib, I-ah!” 

Whatever he was going to say cuts off as they move their touch down to his balls, and start toying with the soft skin there. He bites his lip and moves the pillow back into position, as his hips jerk upwards. Uthvir pulls their hand out of his shorts and cups him through the front of them instead, before climbing up and prying the pillow carefully away.

“Babe,” they say, in a low and quiet voice. Thenvunin stills. Face still flushed, hair all mussed.

They lean down and kiss him.

“If I do something you don’t like, I need you to tell me,” they ask, moving their lips towards his ear. “It’s not supposed to hurt, Thenvunin. I just want to make you feel  _good.”_

Thenvunin’s breath halts. His lip trembles. He looks a little wide-eyed, and uncertain. Uthvir gives him a moment. And then they start to pull back; but he catches their wrist, and halts them. Drawing in another long, shuddering breath.

“Please,” he says.

He blushes furiously as soon as he says it. Biting his lip and then turning his head away, but Uthvir gets the message. They trail their nails across his stomach, and push his shirt up, and press kisses down his chest. As they whirl their tongue across one of his nipples, Thenvunin lets go of the pillow. His hands flutter across the sheets, like he doesn’t really know what to do with them.

Uthvir makes a note of that. How would he take a suggestion of them tying him up? They think he might like it, but they’ll have to be careful, probably. Maybe avoid buying him dinner that day, or anything that might make him think it’s some kind of twisted trade-off.

“Fuck,” they whisper, instead, as they nip at his abs. “You’re so gorgeous. It’s ridiculous. I bet you sound like heaven when you’re screaming my name.”

“Uthvir!” Thenvunin protests. He covers his mouth.

“Like that, yes. If I do this right there’ll be less annoyance next time, too,” Uthvir replies, with a wink, before lowering their mouth to the front of Thenvunin’s shorts.

He  _gasps,_  then.

His hips twitch, and Uthvir kisses the warm, hard flesh of him through the soft fabric. Before they decide that the shorts are really just too silly, and pull back to fish a condom out of their pocket. Then they yank down the shorts, as Thenvunin’s legs squirm just a little. His cock is flushed and nicely-sized, narrow enough that it stands up pretty high, and very  _red._  Uthvir grins, and runs a hand over it again, before rolling the condom over it.

It’s a pretty picture - Thenvunin clutching their sheets, shirt pressed up around his armpits, erection flushed between his legs. Uthvir can’t tell which is redder; his face or his dick.

“Thenvunin,” they hum, admiringly, before they pin his hips and swallow him down.

He’s very hot against their tongue.

But they barely get to sucking him off before he comes; both hands lifting up to cover his face, as he goes off like a geyser inside the condom. Uthvir chuckles around him, delighted even if he doesn’t call out their name, and presses a few more licks and gentle touches to his flagging length, before they veer off to kiss the insides of his thighs instead.

Thenvunin manages to clear his throat, after a little while. His muscles have mostly gone limp, and his gaze is a little dazed. But he seems to have regained some coherency.

“What’re you doing, sib?” he asks.

They raise an eyebrow.

“Kissing your thighs,” they say. Seems kind of obvious.

Thenvunin clears his throat again, and they have the sneaking suspicion that he’s going to say something that will make them want to murder at least one ex-lover of his again.

“Yeah, but. I… came?”

Yes.

Yes, there it is.

“So?” Uthvir asks, and licks a stripe over the seam of his leg. They press the tips of their nails against the skin of his hips. Thenvunin lets loose a baffled noise.

“So… um… so what’s with the foreplay?” Thenvunin finally asks.

Uthvir looks up at him, and then shrugs.

“Does it feel good?” they ask.

They have to wait for about two minutes, as Thenvunin seems to have some struggle with answering that. It’s a little uncomfortable to just be leaning over him like this without doing anything, so they work their way up towards his stomach while he deliberates.

“…Yeah…” he finally manages.

Uthvir kisses his ribs.

“Reason enough for me,” they decide. They trail a hand up from his abdomen, with a brief pit stop to toy with his navel. It makes him squirm a little - or possibly their words do - before pressing the pillow close and rolling over.

The back view is definitely all they’d hoped for.

“Okay, sib,” Thenvunin says, shakily. “You got me. I’m all, like, seduced and stuff. Your wiles have worked. It’s like in that legend where that lion goes on his hunt and he runs and runs and then he gets really tired and then the Guide finds him and they bang, because he’s a metaphor. Only I’m more like some kind of majestic eagle and you’re, like, a shark, and I rested on this rock by the sea and you were like ‘score, free lunch’. Take me into your maw. Or whatever.”

Uthvir blinks.

They’re…  _fairly_  sure this is what he said, as they try and review it, but he  _is_  mumbling into their pillow.

After a few more minutes of feeling inexplicably moved, they settle for curling a hand over Thenvunin’s hip, and pressing a few biting kisses to the backs of his shoulders. Not hard enough to break the skin; but it makes him shiver.

“I’m hungry,” they decide. “You want to go get something to eat?”

There’s a pause.

Then,

“I could probably use some more protein.”

Uthvir grins.

 

~

 

When Thenvunin is little, his mother tells him  _a lot_  of old elvhen stories.

His father doesn’t like it. He thinks they’re too ‘fanciful’, that they’re ‘filling his head with fluff’, but Thenvunin doesn’t ever really understand  _why,_  because there’s nothing fluffy about them. There are animals and monsters and demons and gods and sacrifices. 

One of Thenvunin’s favourite stories is the story about how the elves came to be mortal.

“The gods walked the world for a long time,” his mother tells him. “A long, long time, and in that time they found that life began to lose its lustre. Colour lost its brightness, and honey lost its sweetness. Songs could no longer lift their spirits, and love could barely stir their hearts. The endless stretch of memory became a chain, that weighed down the rest of existence. The first experience of something always holds a brightness that can never be recaptured. As the People and their gods grew older, more and more they experienced; but they could never experience it for the first time again. And so what was bright grew dim.”

“Into this time was born a new goddess. A whisper, a wanderer. She was young, and in being young she could see how far the others of her kin had fallen, and how much they had lost. For the gods believed that the  _world_  had lost its brightness; but their newest daughter saw that this was not so. So she vowed to guide them away from this disaster. To fix the matters of the gods, and of the People, until the weight of memory could no longer steal the beauty of the world away.”

“The gods feared this vow. For as stale as the world had become, they were also uncertain of change. Time does that, to some. It buries them in so many comfortable patterns and routines, that it seems like any fresh wind is an ill wind. But the People could be wiser than their gods, at times, and so they flocked to the Guide’s banner. Thus, those who were once protectors became fearful, and those who were once devout became uncertain. And another new god - the God of Rebellion - was also then born…”

Thenvunin remembers listening, raptly, as his mother would describe the many battles of the end of the ancient empire; and how the People’s bodies became mortal, but their souls lived on. Born again and again, each generation. Not weighted by their memories of their past lives. And the gods went to sleep; though some say that they are reborn, too. In secret. Living among the People without even knowing it themselves.

“And that is why some elves name their children after the gods,” his mother would usually conclude. “Because they are conceited ninnies.”

Thenvunin giggles.

“Did  _we_  live in ancient Elvhenan?” he wonders. “What do you think it was like?”

His mother shrugs.

“I don’t know, little heart. Maybe it wasn’t much different from how we live now, in the end. I would bet that I still loved you the most of all things, in any life.” She scoops him up, and presses kisses to his head. They’re just stories, he knows. His father says they’re not  _real_ history. But when Thenvunin goes to sleep, he dreams of a garden full of glittering toys, and beautiful birds, and his mother telling him different stories that he isn’t supposed to ‘take much mind of’.

_Once, there were great spirits who came into the world as dragons…_

Thenvunin thinks it’s funny, that his mother tells him stories and then he goes to sleep and dreams of his mother telling him  _more_  stories.

He likes stories a lot, he supposes. But he has to keep that a secret.

He’s not really supposed to.

 

~

 

The fraternity/sorority mixer isn’t actually featuring Thenvunin’s fraternity. He shows up anyway, though, because it’s Serahlin’s sorority, and the fraternity is one of the more… human-centric ones around campus. Human men and elven women tend to be a powder keg, so Serahlin asks a few bros and some elves from the non-gender-affiliated consanguinities to come. Just to make sure nobody starts getting any funny ideas. The frat they’re mixing with tonight has a pretty good reputation, but even so.

Pays to be cautious.

Thenvunin shows up instead of Adannar, who has been spending the past few days acting like a kicked puppy over the Necklace Incident, and subsequent Morning Bed Incident. Serahlin greets him looking more or less as composed as ever, though.

Most of the mixer goes about as well as can be expected. The music is gratingly awful. There’s some  _killer_  moulding on the fraternity house’s main entryway. Lots of dog statues, too. The deck is cedar, but the garden is a complete wash; the pool’s too big for the space. Serahlin’s sorority has a lot of rules, so there’s not a lot of indecency going around, either. Thenvunin just kind of does the rounds, makes sure everyone knows there’s a big muscle-y elven bro around if needed, and then goes and gets a drink.

He’s halfway through that when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey, handsome,” a low voice says. “Haven’t seen you around at one of these before.”

For a bizarre half a second, Thenvunin almost thinks that Uthvir has turned up at this mixer for some reason. He turns, a greeting on his lips… and almost chokes on it, as he actually sees the elf behind him.

That is  _not_  Uthvir.

Though the elf in question is about the same height, so at least he doesn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of over-estimating his line of sight. They’re delicate, though Thenvunin gets the impression that there’s more strength than not in the compact lines of their limbs. Golden skin all but shines from beneath a billowing silver dress, that’s embroidered with emerald leaves here and there. Their hair is nearly as long as his own, tumbling around them in curling waves, and their eyes are the brightest blue he has ever seen in his life. Jade bangles wrap around their wrists, and ankles, and dangle from their ears.

Thenvunin  _desperately_  wants to know what kind of hair care routine they have.

“Uh. I’m a friend of Serahlin’s. The sorority VP? Just here to make sure things go smoothly, and all.”

The unfamiliar elf smiles.

“What a coincidence. That’s what I’m here for, too,” they say. “Though I don’t imagine I pull it off quite as well as you do. Big, brave, strong bodyguard.” Reaching over, they pull a drink from one of the ice boxes, and Thenvunin stares, dumbfounded, as they pop the top with their  _teeth._  Reaching for it brings them perilously close to him, too. Enough so that their hair brushes across his arm.

It is  _like silk_.

“Well, looks aren’t everything, sib,” he says. “My uh. My friend, Uthvir, they’re not that big – probably about the same size as you, actually – and they’re stronger than I am. Like. Blows my mind, to be honest. I work out a lot, I’m not a tiny elf, y’know? Like I can bench more than Venavismi and I’m definitely built, but biology, sib. It’s an amazing thing. And magic too I guess, like maybe, I dunno. Studies are out on that as a contributing factor. And all.” He clears his throat, and takes a step back. “You from one of the consanguinities, then?”

“Mmhmm,” the elf replies, and takes a swig from their drink. Their eyes zero in on Thenvunin’s muscles.

He clears his throat again, and obligingly flexes. Though he’s not really expecting it when the elf reaches out and runs a hand down his bicep.

“This friend of yours… are you two exclusive?” they wonder.

“Uh,” Thenvunin replies, as his mind blanks. Exclusive? Nobody ever asks if  _friendship_  is exclusive. Well. Not usually, anyway. Maybe some people do? Is that like an ace community thing? Should he ask Tasallir? No, Tasallir will probably spend the first five minutes explaining why he’s an idiot and insulting his colour coordination – which is  _fantastic_  and Tasallir doesn’t know what he’s talking about – before actually giving him an answer. He should google it, maybe. “Um. Fre… uh. Well. That, I-I mean. Why do you ask, sib?”

Clear, pointed nails tap against his skin.

“Maybe I’m looking for a good time. No strings attached,” they suggest.

Thenvunin thinks this is probably the sort of elf he’s supposed to go head-over-heels for. And it’s not like he and Uthvir actually do have anything… they’re not… they’re just, they hook up, sometimes. Sometimes they hook up. A lot. Every week. It’s just that Thenvunin hasn’t felt like hooking up with anyone else, since they started to. Because he doesn’t feel like it. Sex can interfere with work-outs sometimes, right? He’s pretty sure he read about that somewhere.

“Show some discipline, sib. C’mon. The party just started. We’re supposed to be looking after things, not wandering off to a broom closet somewhere,” he settles for saying.

The elf chuckles.

“Rain check?” they suggest.

Thenvunin shrugs, noncommittally, and avoids answering by taking a long swig from his own drink. There’s something about this opportunity that he just can’t turn down, though. He darts a glance around the room, and then licks his lips, and looks back at the elf.

“Nah, but. Look, I don’t wanna come off the wrong way or anything,” he says, and their eyebrows tick up. He gets a weird sense of déjà vu. “But… how do you get your hair to  _do_ that? You look like a mermaid, sib. It’s wild. I mean I understand if an elf’s gotta keep their secrets, and all, but I know a supplier who makes speciality lotions that are just killer. I was getting shipments from my mom to try and deal with this parched air, I thought my elbows were gonna  _die,_  and this chick saved me from scaly skin like you wouldn’t believe. She makes a boss ass lip balm, too. If you tell me what you use, I’ll give you the website for her shop.”

The elf blinks.

Thenvunin waits, with baited breath. Damn. Their hair looks so soft and  _wavy._  He bets if he could get his hair to bounce like that, Uthvir’d be totally incapable of keeping their hands out of it. Not that he’s going for that, of course. Just. It’d be like a hazard to consider, and all. The perils of upping his hair game that significantly.

At length, the elf shrugs.

“There’s no secret. I just use whatever’s around,” they finally admit. “It’s genetics,  _bro._  I think Uthvir bought the shampoo last week. You could always ask them.”

Thenvunin’s brain stalls.

“Wait, what?” he asks. “You – you know Uthvir?”

The strange elf smirks.

“Uthvir is my precious younger sibling,” they assert, and Thenvunin feels a rush of distaste. This is Uthvir’s scarcely-mentioned roommate-slash-sibling? Glory?

“What the hell?!” he exclaims. “Is this like the thing with Darris and Serahlin’s younger sister? Is there some epidemic of sibs with no morals trying to steal their own sibs’ boyfriends? Don’t pull that shit! Why the hell were you flirting with me? You gotta know I’ve been hooking up with Uthvir, if you’re their roommate! This is, like, a complete betrayal of the philosophies of familial loyalty, I can’t believe you came on to me, that’s so inappropriate. I think I’m gonna be sick. What if Uthvir finds out you did that?!”

Glory blinks, and folds their arms.

“Oh, so  _now_  you’re Uthvir’s boyfriend, when two seconds ago you were just ‘friends’?” they ask.

Thenvunin’s mouth opens, and then closes again.

Did he say he was Uthvir’s boyfriend?

He… did, didn’t he? By, like. Implication. But he was just using it as an umbrella term. It’s not like it’s official or anything. So he’s probably not, really. Even though it’s still disgusting that Glory hit on him, because also he  _is,_  or he’s willing to call it that for the purposes of this argument. Kind of.

How did this become a criticism of  _his_  actions, anyway?

The tiny little elf looks around for a moment, and then closes a hand a little more pointedly around Thenvunin’s forearm. Before he can formulate a response, he feels those nails  _dig in._

That’s, uh.

That’s… he’s sort of got a… that is, when someone spends a certain amount of time… associating some sensations with…

“Alright, listen butterfly boy,” they say, and Thenvunin feels legitimately imperiled by the look in their eye. Which helps. “Uthvir might wear a lot of pointy shit, but inside they are fuzzy and delicate and sweet, like a fucking bumblebee. And if I find out you’ve been playing them, I’m going to pluck every single hair from that pretty little head of yours, weave it into a rope, and hang you with it. Because I have had just about enough of people hurting them. But in the event that they are right about you, and you are actually some kind of delightful fairy tale prince, we’re cool. You got it?”

Thenvunin thinks he might be getting an erection.

This is not an appropriate time to get an erection. Sheer, potent mortification wars with his body’s reactions, as his mind tries to piece it all together.

“…Uthvir thinks I’m a fairy tale prince?” he finally manages to ask, in an embarrassingly high tone.

Glory looks at him for a moment.

Then the look in their eyes eases up, and they let him go.

“Uthvir’s totally gone on you,” they say. “If we were in middle school I would expect them to have a notebook full of hearts around both of your names by now.”

That… can’t be right. Thenvunin’s cheeks flush, and he doesn’t know what to say. The words  _fairy tale prince_  just keep looping in his head, as his heart speeds up and he tries – and fails – to resist the urge to fidget. The mention of notebooks doesn’t help, either, because that just makes him think of the new character he’s been writing into his Thenerassanian Chronicles.

“Shit, sib, you can’t just spring that on me!” he finally blurts, and now that he knows it, the family resemblance is kind of uncanny. Glory’s like a prettier-but-less-hot Uthvir. Like all the kind of gorgeous shine that Thenvunin thinks he sees sometimes when Uthvir’s smiling really big or laughing genuinely or resting their cheek on his chest after… like, they’re all of that goodness is there on Glory’s outside, and all of the sharp edges and knives that Uthvir wears are on their inside.

…That’s a terrifying concept.

“What am I supposed to do now? I don’t – we’re just, like, hooking up, and stuff. What if you’re not even right? I mean, like, Uthvir’s… and I… they just… are you  _high?”_

Glory shrugs.

“A little,” they say.

Oh, gods. If this is their ‘chill’ mode, Thenvunin does not want to see them sober.

That’s when Glory reaches over and pats his arm.

He nearly jumps twenty feet in the air.

“Don’t tell Uthvir I talked to you,” they say. “It hurts their feelings when I try and seduce their lovers to prove a point. Also, congrats, you’re the first one to sort of actually pass this test. If you make it through the Maze of Douchebaggery without getting lost in the corridors and manage to survive the Tunnel of Bribery without slipping up, you might actually survive the  _real_  trials.”

Thenvunin finds himself at something of a loss for words.

Glory gives him another pat, and then saunters off.

_What just happened…?_

 

_~_

 

“Where were you?” Uthvir asks, when Glory gets back late.

It’s not an accusatory question, as a matter of fact. They’re just curious. They’d passed by Glory’s usual study group, and noticed their sibling’s absence, and then Desire had come by half an hour ago to see if Glory was there, and hung around to gossip for a while before her own roommate called and she left to go help with some post-date drama.

“Studying with Squish,” Glory says.

Uthvir looks at them.

Glory stares back, and then swears.

“Squish came by,” they surmise.

“I also passed your study group,” they reply. “So. Lies. Interesting choice.”

Their older sibling shrugs.

“I just went to a party. Don’t tell Desire, it was just one of those boring consanguinity things. Helping chaperone a mixer with a frat. I couldn’t have any real fun, and she needs to actually spend some time studying,” they say, and stalk over to their side of the room to start changing into their pyjamas. Uthvir doesn’t buy it. Squish’s studies are fine. They’d gotten an e-mail from Serahlin a few nights ago, asking if they’d be willing to turn up for something like this. They call it up, and yup, that was tonight.

So at least  _that_  part of the argument holds some water.

But they check the list of e-mail addresses she forwarded her request to, and feel their stomach sink and twist a little. Thenvunin’s frat is on that list, because of course it is. They glance at Glory, and then pick up their phone and send him a text.

_Hey. Were you at Serahlin’s mixer?_

They head over to the sorority’s facebook page, and start looking through the latest photos as they wait. By the time their phone buzzes, Glory’s curled up into their bed with their kindle all lit up and their blankets around their ears.

 _Yeah just for a bit,_  Thenvunin replies.

Uthvir’s stomach goes cold, as they look at one of the photos on the screen.

 _Have a good time?_  they text back. Their phone feels weirdly heavy, and so does their chest, as they look at a picture of a bunch of elves and humans goofing off. In the far background, incidentally caught, are two familiar elves. One leaning in towards the other, and touching his arm, which the target of their attention looks faintly enraptured.

Their throat feels dry, as they swallow.

_It was pretty dull sib. Nothing to write home abt._

They swallow again, and put down their phone. Close their laptop, and lie back against their pillow. So, they think. This is it. It was bound to happen sooner or later, of course. Though, obviously, they’d been hoping for ‘later’. Still. They knew it would have to come. So they’re not really sure why it feels so much like someone’s reached into their chest and started punching. Or why, exactly, they can’t stop swallowing, until they realize that their eyes are itching too.

Shit.

Well.

Shit.

They blink rapidly a few times, and suck in some deep, long breaths. But it doesn’t help. If anything it just makes it worse, because after a minute their breath comes out shuddering. A distinctive, too-loud hitch, and they bite back a curse as they roll onto their side.

There’s a telling silence from the other side of the room.

“Uthvir?” Glory asks.

They can’t answer. They know they won’t be able to keep it out of their voice if they try. Their only hope is to feign ignorance and pray Glory chalks the sound up to their imagination, and they know it’s doomed when they hear blankets rustle, and the light from the kindle goes out.

“Are… you crying…?” Glory asks, uncertainly.

“Bawling,” Uthvir replies, in a last ditch effort. Hoping they can pull off a sarcastic drawl.

Their voice hitches.

That’s another hope dashed, then.

They closes their eyes, and try to hastily will themselves towards composure before they hear the soft padding of feet across the floor, and feel the mattress dip. And then they just feel a flash of anger. Because they can’t even have  _this,_  they can’t even just be miserable on their own for five minutes, they can’t…

“Hey,” Glory says, and reaches for their shoulder.

Uthvir shrugs them away.

“No,” they say. “No. Leave me alone.”

“What happened?” their sibling asks, and they let out a hissing breath.

“You  _know_  what happened,” they snap, and suddenly they feel like a stupid teenager again; struggling against a tide that they had thought they’d already surrendered to. “You couldn’t just  _leave it alone._  He wasn’t any of your business, he never even met you, would it have killed you to not be the centre of the universe for five fucking minutes?”

They can  _feel_  Glory frowning.

“You think that’s what this is about? Me? You think it was some attention play on my part? I don’t give a fuck if your dates pay attention to me, Uthvir. But you’ve been spending a lot of time with this guy. So sue me if I wanted to make sure he wasn’t another scumbag.”

“You  _know_  he’s not a scumbag, I  _told_ you what was going on with him-”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been wrong about this shit before-”

“How does vetting my dates translate to  _fucking them,_  then?!”

“I have never fucked  _any_  of your dates, don’t you dare imply that I would do that to you  _or_  Desire-”

“Don’t imply that? What the fuck, Glory? What the actual fuck, when I have never been with a single person you haven’t tried to pry out of my hands-”

“It’s not about me stealing your fucking hook-ups, and you know it, it’s about you hooking up with the kind of worthless pieces of shit who never choose you-”

“People  _do not choose me,_  Glory, I get it, okay, lesson  _fucking_ learned-”

“Scumbags don’t choose you, Uthvir! Asshole opportunists don’t choose you, they choose  _me,_  which is why I-”

“FUCK. OFF,” they snarl, as something bites through them. They turn, and glare at Glory as a few hot, traitorous tears run their way down their cheeks. “You don’t get to play that card right now. Desire chose you too. And I knew she would, I  _always_  knew she would, we all fucking did, and you  _have_ her. You have your Happily Ever After. Falon’Din is dead and Desire’s got your ring on her finger, and so fucking sue me if I want to be more than just your lifetime accessory, but I do. I want…”

Their throat goes thick, and closes.

Glory just looks worried and confused.

“You’re not my accessory,” they say. “It’s okay. He didn’t even take the bait.”

A mirthless chuckle escapes them. Of course he didn’t take the bait. It’s  _Thenvunin._  He was probably stuck in some kind of weird conflicting impulse loop while Glory was still trying to reel him in.

“Fuck off,” they repeat, tiredly. 

“He didn’t, though. He asked what kind of shampoo I use. Seriously! I brought my A-game and all he did was talk about you and hair care products, and then yell at me when he found out who I was.”

They feel, just faintly, just the littlest burst of hope.

And that seems meaner than anything.

Because it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if Thenvunin is, in the end, good enough not to sleep with Uthvir’s sibling. All that takes is a certain degree of moral fortitude, not a lack of temptation. It doesn’t matter, because now Thenvunin has  _met_  Glory. Now Glory has flirted with him, has gotten that image firmly implanted into his head. And now, every time he looks at Uthvir, he’s going to be  _seeing that._  Even if he keeps with them.

He knows what he’s missing, now. What Uthvir’s missing. What they don’t measure up to.

_It’s over, it’s over, now every time he’s going to wish we were Glory…_

“I really liked him,” they realize. They kind of knew, before. But they hadn’t let it fully hit them. Weird, beautiful Thenvunin, with all his quirks and interests and odd intensity. Contradictions and company. The words slip out of them as barely more than a whisper, and their shoulders shake.

“Hey,” Glory says. “Hey, no, no no no, Uthvir. He really, truly turned me down. I think he likes you too. I think he likes you a lot. Please. Please, stop crying. Shit…”

Their sibling reaches for them again, and they curl away; retreating into a tight ball in the corner of their bed, in lieu of any other remaining escape routes or diversions.  _Don’t touch me._  They try and swallow back their tears, but now the dam has broken it seems insistent on staying open.

After a while, Glory withdraws. Their voice carries over, distantly. Talking on the phone. Uthvir tunes it out. The last thing they want to hear, right now, is Glory calling Desire and getting comfort and support from someone who’s always going to forgive them. From their fiance, who loves them the way that no one is  _ever_  going to love Uthvir. They pull their pillow over their head and drown out the rise and fall of their voice, until exhaustion kicks in, and they start to drift off.

They dream that Thenvunin comes.

That it’s after midnight according to the glowing letters on their clock, and he sits down on the side of their bed. His expression worried and uncertain. Unhappy.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve told you I met Glory. I wasn’t keeping it a secret because I didn’t want you to know, I just, wasn’t sure how to explain? It was very weird. But we didn’t do anything, Uthvir, I swear. I’m no Darris.”

 _No Darris._  Thenvunin’s a better person than the kind who would go around sleeping with the relative of someone he hooks up with. Even without any kind of formal promises between them. But that doesn’t mean the Glory Problem isn’t still going to be a big deal. Especially not in the real world, where Thenvunin isn’t a soft dream in a purple plaid shirt and denim shorts.

Uthvir swallows, and tilts their head to the side.

“It’s not your fault. It’s just that every time someone meets Glory, they see what I’m not measuring up to. It’s like looking at the Deluxe Model. Nobody ever just wants me, after that. They wonder if I can’t dye my hair, maybe, or change the colour of my eyes, or start dressing different. But even if I do, I just end up looking even  _more_  like a pale imitation. I can’t win. And I can’t even blame them, because Glory’s just better than me. Always has been.”

Thenvunin frowns, as they let out a long, defeated breath. He glances over at Glory’s side of the room, his expression all sour, before he looks back at them, and it softens. 

There’s a pause. They hear the door to the room close.

Glory leaving. Their unconscious mind is being pretty obliging, at the moment.

“I like you better,” Thenvunin says. Because he’s a dream. “There’s no contest.” He moves, then, and Uthvir’s breath stalls because the hand that lands on their thigh feels very warm and very solid. Thenvunin leans in. The sheets rustle. The mattress creaks, and Uthvir’s brain stops working as he wedges his way completely onto the narrow bed with them. Pulling them to his chest and putting his arms around them. Soft purple plaid under their cheek, and bare legs tangled with their own.

What…?

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Thenvunin says, in his softer, less forced tones.

Uthvir blinks, and feels like the world has suddenly flipped onto its head.

“…Okay,” they agree, dazedly.

Is this…

Is this real…?

Thenvunin runs a hand down their back, and hums. And then he shifts a little, and clears his throat.

“Good. Uh. But, well. I’m thinking I should maybe spend the night, but these jorts are riding up  _super hard_  right now - haven’t had much chance to break ‘em in yet - so I’m gonna take them off. But it’s not a come-on right now, okay? This is just, like, supportive relationship time. Don’t worry, I’m wearing briefs. They’re new, too, did some shopping before the party because Aelynthi ripped another pair of skinny jeans trying to run down someone who was putting up pro-Templar fliers in the quad.”

…Holy shit this is  _real._

Uthvir stares as Thenvunin moves back a little, and shuffles out of his denim shorts, and then pulls them close again. Winding an arm around their waist and burying his fingers in their hair. They stare at him, strangely mesmerized and uncomprehending and not a little awed. Slipping their own arms around him, in return.

“I wanna kiss you,” Thenvunin whispers.

They tilt their head up, and kiss his chin, before they finally reach his lips. Their heart is beating so fast, they swear they can feel it in their skull. Their whole mouth tingles, as Thenvunin’s lips press against their own, and he curls around them.

They kiss a few times. Not really heatedly. Uthvir can’t even process it, they don’t think. At some point they  _actually_ fall asleep, with their mind still turning in bewildered circles around how they’ve reached this point. Isn’t this the part where Thenvunin  _leaves?_ Isn’t this the part where they lose him?

Isn’t this the part where they aren’t good enough?

And yet, somehow, it’s the part where they’ve got a boyfriend.

 _Weird,_  Fear agrees.  _What’s the catch?_

The next morning, they wake up, and Thenvunin’s gone. Glory’s bed is empty. They feel a rush of unease, as they wonder if it  _wasn’t_  all a dream. And then they sit up to check their phone and see how much of it might have been a dream, because maybe Glory still hasn’t met Thenvunin yet and they still have a chance, and something that’s too light to be a blanket slides off of them.

Thenvunin’s purple plaid shirt.

They stare at it for about five minutes, solid.

Holy shit.

Holy… holy shit.

_I think I’m in love._

 

_~_

 

Desire’s roommate has only just gone to finally hash things out with her girlfriend when her phone jangles with a text from Glory.

_I fucked up._

She stares at the letters for a minute, and lets out a long breath, before crossing her legs and settling into the middle of her bed. She glances at her clock, and considers the possibilities. There are, admittedly, a lot of things that Glory could fuck up, but only a few which Glory would themselves term ‘fucking up’.

 _Thenvunin or Dirthamen?_  she texts back, after a minute.

There’s a pause.

_I hit on Thenvunin._

Desire closes her eyes, and runs a hand down the side of her face. Fucking…

 _I thought we agreed you wouldn’t do that this time,_  she texts back, and admittedly, she’s annoyed. She loves Glory. She does. Glory’s brilliant, and Desire wouldn’t change them or trade them for the world, but they’re also a conceited fuckwit sometimes. Especially when it comes to Uthvir. Desire’s never been entirely sure if Glory just subconsciously enjoys keeping their sibling safely ensconced in their shadow, or if it’s just never occurred to them that occupying that space could be a  _problem,_  or what.

She gives it another couple of minutes, and isn’t totally surprised when there’s a knock on her door.

She opens it to find Glory standing outside, looking pensive and uncertain and like they really need her.

Desire’s not immune to that. Never has been.

She sighs, and tugs her beloved heart inside, and closes the door behind them. Glory latches onto her, arms closing around her, pointy chin digging into her shoulder a bit as they bury their face into her hair and slowly inhale.

“So. You hit on Thenvunin,” she says, and pats a hand over Glory’s soft curls. “Did he take the bait?” She’s going to kill him if he did, she thinks. Poor Uthvir.

“No,” Glory murmurs.

She lets out a breath of relief.

“Well, at least it’s not a  _complete_  disaster, then. But I guess Uthvir found out?” She pulls Glory over to her bed, and lets her beloved crawl into her lap. All awkwardly, too. Glory is a mess of limbs and hair and  _clings,_  and somehow manages to do it almost  _guiltily_ , in a way that makes Desire wonder just how everything went down. If Uthvir had gotten angry, she thinks, Glory would just be annoyed.

“Were they pissed?” she checks, anyway.

There’s a pause, as Glory buries their nose against the side of her neck.

“…They cried.”

Oh.

Dammit.

She lets out a long breath, and checks the time again, and wonders where she left her pants. There. Next to the bed.

“C’mon, angel, get up. I can’t believe you left them alone if they’re that upset about it,” she says, but Glory stills her.

“I didn’t,” they say. “I called Thenvunin. He came over in a pretty good hurry.”

Desire’s eyebrows fly up.

Glory called someone  _other than her_  to come and help with Uthvir in the midst of an emotional crisis?

“He must’ve made a good impression,” she notes, a little faintly.

“I just…” Glory starts, and lets out a long breath. They flail outwards with one of their arms. “I was gonna leave it alone, like you said to, but then I was at this party to chaperone and he was there and I saw him talking to some people. And he’s so  _big,_  Squish! And Uthvir’s all just little and tiny and small and petite and this guy’s like  _built._  All muscle.”

“Hot,” she notes. “Good job, Uthvir.”

Glory pinches her, and she rolls her eyes and kisses their temple.

“You know Uthvir is  _insanely strong,_  right?” she feels compelled to point out. Short? Yes. But so’s Glory. Though for some reason, Glory insists that Uthvir is tinier. Older sibling perspective, Desire guesses. Uthvir’s always going to be seven years old and talking fervently about dinosaurs with that cute little lisp they used to have, in some corner of Glory’s head.

“Maybe,” Glory hedges. “They always lose arm wrestling.”

“To  _you._  And barely. Angel, baby, you’re a lot of things, but you’re not a good barometer for ‘normal’,” she says, with a sigh. And poor Uthvir gets to be the moon in a world where the sun never goes down. “So. You went over, you were like all ‘hey baby how about we go get to know one another better, wink wink’, and he told you to get bent because he’s wildly in love with someone else? Or did he recognize you straight away and back out of your death maze before you could properly ensnare him?”

“He hedged a lot and asked me what I do to my hair,” Glory explains, with a sigh.

Desire snickers.

“Poor bastard.” She’s seen Glory use the most cringe-worthy and devastatingly acidic shampoos that should have destroyed their locks and come out of it all horrifically shiny and soft with bouncy ringlets a movie star would kill for. Desire’s pretty sure Glory’s mamae made a deal with a demon. Seriously. It explains so much.

Not that she  _cares._  She’s probably as in love with the demon as anything else, come to it.

“So, he proved to be pure and innocent as the driven snow,” she surmises.

Glory snorts.

“I think I gave him a boner when I threatened to kill him,” they correct. “But he said he was Uthvir’s boyfriend. Even though he kind of said he wasn’t, too. And then I went home and I don’t know, I guess Uthvir texted him, and they flipped out and said I was always trying to fuck their dates – which I wasn’t, I mean seriously, they know better than that – and then they told me they liked him and started crying.”

“And you called Thenvunin,” Desire concludes.

Glory hesitates, again.

“I would have called you,” they say. “But Uthvir brought up…”

Oh.

_That._

Desire curses, internally, as something in her twists. Back when they’d been teenagers, Desire had… waffled, a little. Not on purpose. It was just… it was easy to think that Glory would never choose her, and Uthvir was amazing, and things got a little confused. Mixed signals and crossed wires. None of them bring it up a lot, because then Falon’Din Happened and Glory pretty emphatically chose Desire, and Desire had already chosen them in a lot of ways. But if she could go back in time, she would do that whole thing differently.

Because she knows it’s her contribution to the massive sinkhole of Uthvir’s self-esteem.

Desire really,  _really_  hopes that Thenvunin is just, over the moon for Uthvir. That he’s an actual Disney Prince. A hot, actual Disney Prince with great communication skills and a sweet ass and a good investment strategy. White picket fence type stuff. Uthvir can taper the fence posts to be really spiky; that’s what Desire hopes for them.

But it’s a good sign that Glory thought he was worth calling, and that he thought it was worth turning up.

“Did you say you were sorry?” she asks.

Glory hesitates.

“…I think so? Maybe?”

“Ffff…  _Angel,”_  she says.

“It’s not – I just…” Glory slumps, falling halfway out of her lap and twisting around to clutch at one of her pillows instead. Desire has a good bed. Fluffy and soft and definitely splurged upon. The love of her life smushes her pillows and makes aggravated noises that she can loosely translate into ‘I feel bad and I know I fucked up but I’m a goddamn disaster at admitting when I’m wrong so I’m trying to reason out why my good intentions justify accidentally rampaging all over my little sibling’s insecurities and almost sabotaging the best romantic entanglement they’ve probably ever had’.

Desire waits it out.

“It’s just…” Glory finally manages, slumping backwards with their legs in her lap. They stare up at her ceiling. “They got hurt because Falon’Din wanted  _me._  I don’t want any other scumbags who would go for me to be messing around with them. They were fourteen, Squish. They were so little when they were fourteen. And I don’t even know when it happened. Somebody hurt them and I didn’t even notice until two fucking years later when I overhead him  _bragging about it._  I don’t know what else to do to try and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Desire sighs.

“They’re not fourteen anymore, Glory,” she says, even as she has to bite down her own anger at that whole ordeal. She didn’t notice, either. Uthvir’s always been good at hiding things; which is why it’s usually pretty monumental when they actually melt down. “They’re a grown-up terrifying blood mage who knows how to spot a creep at fifty paces. You’ve gotta let them choose the risks they want to take.”

“But they’re always picking assholes,” Glory complains.

“They like a little asshole in the mix,” Desire counters, with a shrug. “So do I.”

That earns her a glare, which she responds to with a raised eyebrow.  _Go ahead and fucking **try**  and deny it, angel._

Glory just frowns and mashes the pillow some more.

“I’m a  _lovable_  asshole,” they assert.

“Well, you’re definitely an asshole I’m in love with,” she promises, shoving Glory’s legs off of her to curl up next to them, instead. It earns her some more grumbling before Glory starts brushing their fingers through her hair, and snuggling back up to her.

There’s a pause, as her beloved sighs and goes a little limp. Frowning and thoughtful.

“I should text to make sure they’re okay,” Glory finally decides.

Desire takes their phone.

“Nope,” she says.

“Fucking-”

“Glory, darling, light of my life, I will sit on this fucking phone until dawn if I have to,” she says, and shoves it under the ample coverage of her hip. “You called Thenvunin and I  _know_  you would not have left him with Uthvir if you did not believe that he was, essentially, harmless. So give him some space to undo all the damage you just did, my beloved clusterfuck.”

“Don’t butt dial my professors,” Glory grumbles.

“Your phone’s locked,” Desire counters. Then she brushes the backs of her fingers over Glory’s cheek, and watches their eyes close. Fuck, what a night. She’s so exhausted she can feel it in her  _teeth._  She pulls back a little to rearrange her boobs so they aren’t all squished up and sweaty, and then rolls over so her still half-heartedly grumbling beloved can comfortably spoon her. Discreetly moving the phone in the process.

After a few moment, Glory murmurs something a little more distinct against her back.

“I made Uthvir  _cry.”_

She sighs.

“I know, angel.”

“I’m a monster.”

Desire pats their hand.

“No. But you do have to say you’re sorry,” she asserts.

“…I fucking hate that.”

“I know you do.”

“…bullshit is what it is…”

“Go to sleep, Glory,” she sighs. “You can keep swearing in the morning.”


	4. Serahlin

“So there’s the Annual Delta Mu Tea next Thursday, I was thinking we could go together,” Serahlin says, holding the hand of her newly minted boyfriend. She smiles up at him, thinking once again how absolutely gorgeous he is – dark hair, eyes the color of the ocean, straight nose…absolutely perfect. But then Darris is part of one of the most exclusive fraternities on campus, so  _of course_ he’s perfect. And she’s the Vice President of the most sought after sorority on campus, making them perfect for each other.

But he shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, “Ah, I don’t like tea. I’ll sit this one out.”

Her smile shifts from joy to a more forced expression, “You said that before last week’s Luncheon.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a bro, Serahlin, we don’t do that pansy sissy shit.”

“But this is important to me, your  _girlfriend._  Or have you already forgotten that?” She bites before she can get control of herself. He stops walking and turns to face her, clearly angry.

“Hey, I don’t ask you to come with me to frat shit, don’t ask me to do this shit.” And then he storms off, leaving her dateless for one of the single most important date-needed events of the semester. Uncomfortable emotion rises within her and if she were a mage, she is confident something would be burning right about now.

Instead, she gives an indignant huff and hurries off to the frat house where she  _knows_  she can get a date. She goes through the list in her head – Vena may be busy with Ana, which is to be expected, those two are almost inseparable these days. Thenvunin is awfully tied up with Uthvir, but perhaps he wouldn’t mind tea with some people he can’t get away with calling savage. Victory’s at base, which probably means Aelynthi should be free…maybe. His schedule can be so finicky with his program. And of course there’s Adannar, but her nose wrinkles. Perpetually messy man always has a stain on his polo, from his chicken wings or pizza sauce, but he’s kind and has one of the biggest smiles in the world. But no, he is not exactly suitable for such an event. Perhaps she can ring Selene and ask if she can borrow Dirthamen for an afternoon.

She walks up to the house and knocks three times, then waits patiently before someone she doesn’t know answers the door. An incredibly beautiful someone. Or striking. Both are accurate in describing the man standing before her in a perfectly pressed seafoam button up t-shirt and designer slacks.

“Good afternoon,” he says in a clearly ‘I come from money’ voice. Serahlin gives him her best polite smile, straightening her back.

“Hello, I’m Serahlin. The boys inside know me, I’m Vice President of Delta Kappa Delta. May I come in?”

The man is about to answer when Vena suddenly appears in the doorway, slumping his arm onto the man in question.

“Serahlin, Farrah-lin! Nice to see you, sis! I see you’ve met Taz, he’s a real party animal.” The man, Taz, wrinkles his nose in distaste at the arm now resting on his shoulder, and removes it quickly with a pinch of his two fingers.

“My name is Tasallir, Venavismi.”

Serahlin holds her hand out, “Nice to meet you, Tasallir.” He eyes her hand with his stunning ruby eyes before shaking it briefly.

“Hello, Serahlin, and please, come in.”

 

~

 

Serahlin strides through apartment hall and politely knocks three times on number 274. There is a bang, a swear, and then a muffled ‘Coming!’ before a decently frazzled looking Selene opens the door. She’s wearing her glasses and there is a splotch of…whatever she was eating at the corner of her mouth.

“So Leena just canceled her mani-pedi-facial with us, and I figured, you know who could use a good day of pampering? You!” She says brightly. But Selene looks more worried than excited at the prospect.

“Serahlin, you don’t have to do this…”

“Nonsense, I want to. It’s all on my mamae’s bill anyways, Creators know she doesn’t care.” Serahlin continues, using her most charming smile. Selene shifts a bit then lets out a breath. 

“Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt-

“Fabulous!” Serahlin takes Selene’s hand and begins to drag her out. The woman barely has enough time and sense to grab her purse and to lock her door before following Serahlin out to her car. Ana leans up, waving excitedly at the two as they make their way to the silver convertible.

“I’m so glad you decided to come!”

Serahlin slides into the driver’s seat, and Selene takes the back. 

 

~

 

After the several hours of pampering, Serahlin sighs and looks at the new and improved Selene.

“Oh my goodness, you’re radiant! Now you will look perfect in your new dress!”

“New dress? What are you talking about?”

“The one we’re going to go buy, silly! For the dinner tonight!”

Selene is convinced that Serahlin did this on purpose. And she would be right.


	5. The Party

Venavismi’s House is throwing a party.

 

Serahlin has recently managed to dump Darris, who is unfortunately also planning on attending said party tonight, so Serahlin absolutely  _insists_ that Elanna and Selene accompany her, and that they look like a group of women capable of crushing him under their heels like the bug that he is.

Selene can’t really turn down her request, so she spends the days before pushing herself to get ahead in her work and assignments and all of the extra activities she’s supposed to help organize for the math department. It’s a lot of time spent in the copy room, to be honest.

  
Serahlin picks her up 6 hours prior to the party, and the three of them spend the day getting steamed and cleaned and Selene tries on pretty much everything Serahlin and Elanna throw at her until they’re satisfied. She ends up in a black dress with thick loose straps that just barely hang onto the tops of her shoulders, a comfortable flowing criss cross pattern over her chest, and a hem that she’s pretty sure is meant for someone closer to Elanna’s height. They end up pairing it with a pair of elegant heels that aren’t really helping her with that problem.

 

Approximately an hour and a half after the party was scheduled to start, Serahlin drives the three of them out to the frat house. Serahlin is stunning in a designer body tight hot pink dress that stops just above her knees, with a tasteful slit up the side and her golden accessories that manage to catch the light perfectly. Elanna is wearing a pale blue number that flows out from her hips to give her a more hourglass-like figure, and decorated with a delicate white swirling flower pattern and matching ballet flats.

 

Serahlin leads, making a point to greet the more influential people at the party on their way in. Elanna splits off once they’ve successfully made it inside, and Vena asks her to go look at something with him. Serahlin ‘tsks’ lightly under her breath, but before too long she is off helping Tasallir drag people out of closets and bedrooms that do not belong to them.

 

Selene stands awkwardly near the punch bowl and glances into her drink, wondering if she could perhaps leave now that Serahlin’s entrance seems to be over.

Someone pats her roughly on the back, and she almost stumbles forward into the table before they help her regain her balance.

“Sel! I didn’t think you’d’ve made it!” Adannar smiles, and she lets out a small breath of relief at the familiar face.

 

“Hey, Adannar. Yeah, I came with Elanna and Serahlin. They’re both off now, doing,” she waves vaguely with her empty hand “I dunno. Something, I guess. How have you been?”

“Good, real good! So Serahlins here too? That’s cool, that’s cool….she bring a date?”

“Just me and Elanna,” Selene jokes with an awkward smile.

“That’s great! I mean, you know, it’s great that she finally dumped Darris. Dude was a jerk.”

Selene nods in agreement, and takes a small sip of her drink.

“Dirthamen’s here too, y'know.” Adannar notes, as he looks down at Selene.

She tries not to choke mid swallow.

 

“What? Why would I-I don’t care. It’s a free school. Well, not  _free_ , tuition is insane, but people can go wherever they want, within reason. I mean, _he_  can probably go anywhere, his dad pretty much owns the place from what I hear, so, there’s that, but that’s not really relevant to parties and stuff. He never really struck me as a party guy though, but I guess everyone’s gotta de-stress somehow, right?”

Adannar blinks at Selene a few times before nodding slowly “Uh, yeah Sel. I think it’s mostly ‘cause this is his fraternity though.”

“Right. That…that makes a lot more sense.” Selene blushes before taking a much bigger drink from her cup.

 

“Right. Soooooo. I was just wonderin’, y'know, if you’re up for it, you don’t seem like you’re really busy, so I was thinking maybe you could run interference for me again? Just keep him away from Serahlin, so I can try to talk to her. Impress her and stuff, without getting shown up, y'know?”

Selene frowns at Adannar; snagging the chair next to Dirthamen in the library is one thing, but spending her time at the party with him sounds like it might be a bit too far for her comfort level. “I don’t know Adannar. Serahlin’s still pretty fresh from her stuff with Darris, don’t you think maybe she should just talk to whoever she wants?”

 

“Yeah, of course, I’m not gonna like force myself on her or anything, I just- You know. I’m not really…posh. She’s into posh guys, like him. But I’m learning! I was watching that fashion channel on TV, and I memorized some poems and stuff, and I even wrote one and I just…I mean if she tells me she’s not interested, I’ll definitely respect her wishes and stuff but I just. I think I love her, Sel. I just need a chance to show her. Please.”

 

Selene sighs. She can’t turn that down.

“Alright. This is the last time though, Adannar. If she turns you down tonight, you have to respect that, ok?”

“Promise! Thanks a ton, Sel!” he grins, and it’s a bit like sunlight when he wraps his arms around her and lifts her just slightly out of her shoes.

She just shakes her head as he wanders off to track down their friend.

 

Well, She should probably go try and fulfill her end of the deal, too. She quickly finishes off her drink, and starts her search.

It doesn’t take too long to do. She finds him standing against the wall, watching a group of students play some intense games of Foosball.

 

“Hey,” she waves to him as she walks over to him. He glances briefly to either side before he responds “Hello,” in return.

“I didn’t think this was your kind of thing,”

“It is not. But Venavismi informed me that I would be expected to be seen regularly tonight, given that we are the hosts. I did not want to be discourteous.”

“Makes sense,” Selene allows.

 

There is a few minutes of silence then, as they watch the match continue.

“Did you see the new trailer for the next Mass Effect movie yet?”

 

“Yes. It does not seem as though they are planning on following the books continuity though, which is disappointing.”

 

“Yeah, not unexpected though. They’re gonna follow whatever they think will appeal to the widest audience. Still, it might be good.”

 

“Perhaps,” he allows. There is a substantial pause before he continues “Would you like to go see it?”

 

“In March?” she asks. It is only early October now. “I guess, yeah. I liked the earlier installments.”

Dirthamen nods “Do you prefer the midnight releases, or would another time be more permittable for your schedule?”

“Uh. I’m, not really sure. It depends on what my schedule looks like, I suppose.”

“I see. Well. It will be nice to have someone to go with, if you are still interested at that time,” he allows.

Selene looks at him curiously “Wouldn’t you rather go with Serahlin?”

He returns her confused look “I do not believe she is interested in such things, is she?”

“Well, no. That’s fair, I guess,” Selene agrees, making a mental note to see if Serahlin would even be comfortable with her going out with Dirthamen to the movies. Potentially alone. Especially if they end up dating by that time.

 

There is more awkward silence then.

 

“You look very nice tonight.” he says, and Selene tries to fight the urge to pull down on the hem of it.

“Oh. Thank you. Serahlin picked it out.”

“She has a good eye.”

 

Selene nods, and then winces when someone blasts up the music on the stereo. Dirthamen himself frowns at her discomfort, and takes her hand. He leads her carefully up the stairs, and shoos a drunken couple off of his door. He takes Selene inside, and she can feel some of the tension roll out of her with the volume successfully muffled.

“Wow, you guys have some impressive insulation,”

“No. I had my room soundproofed after Venavismis first party. I believe Tasallir did the same,” he informs her.

 

Selene tries not to laugh at the mental image that conjures up, or the teasing Vena likely did to Tas about getting his  _own_  room soundproofed for Elanna.

 

It’s right around this time that Selene realizes she is now alone with Dirthamen. In his room.

Her stomach twists slightly at the implications.

 

“Would you like to watch a movie?” Dirthamen inquires.

Selene is not really sure what the protocol here is; is that a code for something?

“Uh. Sure.” she says.

 

Dirthamen flips on his television and Netflix account and they eventually settle on Stardust. Selene hasn’t seen it before, and the premise sounds interesting. Dirthamen says the book was better, but the movie is still passable.

 

The movie  _is_  good, and Selene quite enjoys it. About an hour into it, Dirthamens hand comes to rest on top of hers.

 _Oh_. She thinks. She wonders if she should pull her hand away, but that would likely upset him, and potentially return him to the party where he will find Serahlin and likely take her away from Adannar for the rest of the evening. She did make an agreement, and it is not as though she dislikes Dirthamen. She likes him quite a lot, actually. More than she liked Haleir, even, and they had…

Well.

That is why they make dresses this short, and have parties like this, she is pretty sure.

She leans against him, then, awkwardly turning her back against his torso, and allows him to wrap an arm around her while the movie plays on.

 

Another 30 minutes pass, and Dirthamens hand drifts down to where her thigh is exposed at the end of her dress. She fights off her bodies instinct to flinch away.  _You are supposed to like this sort of thing,_ she berates herself. Instead, she turns to bury her face against his neck, and places a soft kiss where she finds his skin.

He takes a sharp inhale then, and she wonders for a moment if perhaps he is also having doubts about this. It would make sense. She knows he is interested in Serahlin, knows that she is a poor substitute, knows that she is a poor, well, everything in this particular department. But he moves to place a finger under her chin and tilts her head up until their lips meet and  _Oh_ , she melts at the warmth shooting down her spine and up her leg from where his other hand still rests. She can almost believe that he is not using her in place of her friend. He pulls back for breath before long, but she chases after his mouth with her own and ends up banging their noses together when she misjudges the distance.

 

He chuckles slightly, and her misstep seems to abate some of his own tensions.

 

He slides his mouth back over hers, and her arms wrap loosely around his neck, the way she has seen them do things in movies, and he lowers her slowly down onto the couch. Her pulse jumps, and she can hear Haleir in her mind ’ _just unclench for a fucking minute and you’ll enjoy it_ ’ and she tries to push it out of her head. 

Dirthamens hand trails further up her thigh and under the hem of her dress, and her memories are replaced with thoughts of Serahlin, and her recent knowledge of Darris and her sister during her visit, and guilt that perhaps doing this now will be a sort of betrayal as well. That it could make Serahlin hate her down the line, but his lips are on  _her_ neck now, and oh, that  _is_  actually wonderful. She is supposed to be doing something too, she thinks, so she moves her hands to unbutton his shirt, carefully sliding it down his arms, and the newly exposed skin is beautiful and makes her own breath catch in her throat. He continues in his affections then, placing gentle kisses down the line of her jaw, and it is wonderful, and kind, and she hates herself for it as all at once everything rushes back towards her. 

This is wrong; she is here as a distraction for a friend, and as a cheap substitute for the person who Dirthamen actually wants. He should be permitted that. 

This was a bad idea, she thinks. And she feels sick then, as she thinks of doing this with Dirthamen under false pretenses, of doing this only one time, of having to make the trek back alone in the morning and trying to keep this from Serahlin if she and Dirthamen  _do_  end up together, and it is too much as Selene pushes him away with a shaky “Stop, please.”

 

He immediately acquiesces her request and moves to quickly get off of her.

  
“Are you alright?” he asks. He looks scared, and she can’t stand the thought that she did that to him. Better now though, before he can regret her.

 

“No. I’m sorry. I…I need to go,” she says, and quickly straightens her dress and dashes out of his room.

 

She passes Venavismi on the way out, who waves a greeting at her but she can’t stop now, if she stops she is going to cry and throw up, and become a mess and tonight was about Serahlin and appearances and she is not going to ruin that for her too.

So she keeps running, straight on until she makes it back to her own room, and locks the door behind her. She is very thankful suddenly, that her scholarship permits her a private room.

She does vomit, and cries a bit, and sends Adannar an apology text for not being able to follow through on their deal. She sends Serahlin a text as well, to let her know she is home safely and not to wait for her if she decides to have a grand exit as well.

 

She changes out of the dress, and removes the polish from her nails before showering and settling into her pajamas for the night. After about two hours of restless tossing and turning, Selene decides to use the rest of the night to study instead, and try to focus on what she is actually good at. Numbers don’t get disappointed.

 

~

 

 

There is something to be said about righteous fury, Serahlin decides as she checks her lipstick in the mirror. She hasn’t truly understood the concept of “fierce” until now, but now she is fierce to fabulous and everywhere in between. Her hair is done, her makeup is flawless just as she is, and everyone here wants at least some of her. And she has this intoxicating power to just say “no” to all of them. Particularly to one individual who was making eyes at her as she stepped into the house.

Oh honey, that isn’t happening ever, ever again.

She turns around in the mirror and smiles. Oh yeah, her ass is  _perfect_  in this dress. She pats it then leaves the restroom to reunite with Tasallir in making the rounds. But a sudden ‘hey!’ stops her and she turns to see a smiling Adannar bounding over to her. She doesn’t even think as she smiles back at him, waving.

“Hey, Serahlin!” He greets, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. She hugs him back and can’t help but notice he smells really nice, like raspberries.

“Adannar, it’s so good to see you. Is this a new cologne?” She asks as he pulls away.

“Nah, Thenvunin recommended some new blonde specific shampoo and conditioner and it’s awesome. Feel how soft my hair is,” he bends down for her to pet him. She eyes it for a moment before running her hand through his hair…his surprisingly thick, wavy locks. Her hand passes through his hair slowly and it  _is_  really soft, clearly moisturized.

“That is really nice,” she murmurs, continuing to run her hands through his hair. It’s so soft! She had no idea he took such good care of his hair. As a rower, she would think that it would be all tainted with whatever is in the water, but no, it’s just soft and sun-bleached and really, really nice. Adannar’s smile gets even bigger if that’s possible and doesn’t stop her.

“I really like your shoes! Louboutin’s right? They got that red stripe down the heel.” She does a double take and removes her hands from his hair to get him to straighten his back.

“Yes, how do you know shoes? Is Thenvunin also a fan?”

“Well yeah, but not for Louboutin’s, they don’t come in his size and heels are rough on his arches.” She laughs at that and he bounces a bit on his heels. He is…so happy. She wonders how he got so happy. But she likes it, it’s infectious and good and she doesn’t feel like she just caught her sister sleeping with her boyfriend when she looks at him. She’s just…happy.

So Serahlin smiles at him and they start talking about…everything and yet nothing having to do with Darris and this party, but just about people and things. He babbles about how he loves to row, but he also likes watching bird documentaries with Thenvunin. He gets even more excited when they somehow start talking about food and how he’s been trying to create the perfect hot wing sauce, but she can’t talk about that with Thenvunin because it’s you know, birds.

She tells him about her fashion merchandizing class and how she is amazed to be having more fun in her logic and argument classes. He nods excitedly at her, knowing exactly how she feels, because he loves his jewelry making class that he took just for the credit. And then he actually pulls out a gorgeous sterling silver necklace with little flowers hooked on.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Adannar,” she gasps, touching it lightly.

“You can have it,” Adannar says quickly. Serahlin pulls her gaze away from the necklace to look up at him in surprise.

“Oh I couldn’t, you worked hard on this, I should at least pay you,” she makes to open her purse to pay him but his hand quickly closes over hers.

“No! I-I mean, it wouldn’t be right seeing as you were sort of the inspiration for it. Remember the fall fling and you were wearing that flower crown?”

She rolls her eyes and shivers, “Ugh, yes, it was awful, I had dirt in my hair for days. Word of advice, don’t ever let Venavismi make flower crowns.”

“Oh but you were so beautiful with the little daises in your hair, so I…made this necklace.” She stops moving for a second and looks at him, really looks at him. Adannar is not unattractive by any measure, he’s…rather gorgeous actually, with his thick, sun-bleached hair, tanned skin, and bright yellow eyes. And…he has a really nice body. Nicer than Darris’s, even, with his broad shoulders and defined arms.

And Adannar is kind. She’s actually happy around him.

His breath hitches and he leans into her, “Serahlin, are you checking me out?” He whispers and it’s her turn to blush.

“No, of course not, that would be impolite of me,” but she looks away from him and down at her shoes…and his. Nice, bright blue boat shoes, pristine white laces as if they’re brand new.

…They’re brand new.

Oh.  _Oh._

She lifts her head then turns around.

“Will you help me take my necklace off and put the new one on, please?” She asks softly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want it clashing with your bracelet.”

“It’s okay, I want to wear yours,” she replies. There is a small sound behind her, then shaking fingers unlatch her current necklace and hand it to her before drawing the new necklace around and snapping it into place.

Serahlin puts her old necklace into her clutch then touches the flower necklace. She…doesn’t know exactly what this means, but she likes it being there, the weight feels good and right against her collarbone. She turns back to him and feels the weight of everything suddenly slam down.

It’s been five days. Darris broke her heart and yet she’s here, letting Adannar put a new necklace on her when she doesn’t even know how to feel about Darris and her sister.

Confusion and panic suddenly overwhelm her and she chokes back a sob. His face falls and he’s there, softly touching her elbows to steady her.

“Serahlin? What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Her throat feels like it’s closing up and her lungs ache. She can barely breathe, how is she supposed to respond?

“Serahlin? There you…are…Serahlin? What did you do to her?!” Tasallir suddenly comes bounding down the hall, shooing Adannar away.

“Serahlin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean –

“Get away from her!” Tasallir sneers. She wants to tell him no, that it isn’t Adannar’s fault, he was being good and kind, that it was her own fault for dating Darris. That she should never have said yes when he asked her to be his girlfriend, should never have given him a second chance, and a third, and even a fourth. She should have, she should have….

“Serahlin, come with me.” Tasallir urges her to follow him into a room down the hall. A couple screams in indignity of being discovered, but Tasallir just shouts at them to get out of his room, and that he’ll have to burn the sheets later. He sets her down his very plush and soft chair, snagging a blanket from his closet and wrapping it around her. She curls into the blanket, needing to feel a weight other than the necklace on her.

It takes a while but her vision clears and things return to a normal volume. The pressure in her chest eases and she takes a deep, wavering breath. The blanket is soft and she tugs it closer to her body.

“Thank you, Tasallir, I don’t know what happened.”

“What happened is that ruffian, Adannar, tried to seduce you so soon after you left that weasel,” Tasallir huffs. Smoke is practically coming out of his ears and she quickly shakes her head.

“No, no, Adannar was being really sweet, he gave me this necklace. I…don’t think he was trying to seduce me. Maybe ask me out, but not seduce me, he’s not like that.”

“They’re  _all_  like that, Serahlin. Sex-crazed and uncaring, and besides, it’s been five days, it is beyond distasteful for him to ask you out on a date at this time.”

But Serahlin isn’t so convinced. And while the wave of panic and hurt begin to subside, the confusion remains.

**

She decides to head home soon after that. She goes and checks on Ana, double checking that she’s good with Vena before Serahlin sets off to find Selene.

Instead, she finds a very clearly upset Dirthamen.

“Dirthamen, have you seen Selene?”

“I believe she headed home.” He says quietly. His eyebrows are drawn together and there is a heaviness to the air around him.  _What happened?_

“Did…did you tell her?” Serahlin asks, knowing that he had been carrying a torch for the girl for months now. His head drops.

“Not…exactly,” he then tells her about the movie, about they had just sort of ended up horizontal on the bed and then she had ran off, sounding very upset.

Serahlin’s eyes widen and she tells Dirthamen goodbye quickly, almost rudely so, before opening her phone to find Selene’s messages.

_Heading home._

_Home safe. Hope you enjoy the party._

Serahlin wastes no time in quickly vacating the party and hopping into her car and dialing Selene’s phone.

It rings five times, and Serahlin is sure it’s about to go to voice mail when a very nervous sounding Selene begins speaking.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Selene, it’s Serahlin. Are you okay? Dirthamen told me what happened.”

“Oh, he did? I-I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened and –

“Okay, I’m coming over.”

“What?! No, no, you don’t have to do that –

“Selene, you’re one of my best friends, you were there every step of the way with Darris. You even went to that party because of me, I am not leaving you alone now when you need me.” The line is silent for a long time and Serahlin wonders if she hung up.

“You don’t hate me?’

What? “Why would I hate you? Wait, I’m turning onto your street now, just hold….on. Okay, I’m leaving the car and walking up right now.”

“I’m not wearing any pants!”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Serahlin asserts before she’s knocking on the apartment door. There is a rustling before the door slowly opens, revealing a terribly disheveled Selene. She is indeed pantsless, opting instead for an over-sized shirt that says MATHLETES on the front.

And Serahlin promptly wraps her friend in a tight hug.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” she whispers until Selene wraps her arms around Serahlin.

“I….why don’t you hate me?” She whispers.

“Where on earth did that idea come from? Did Darris talk to you?”

“No, but Dirthamen and I, we were kissing and making out and I kinda wanted to go farther than that but you like him and he likes you and I was just a replacement and I couldn’t do that to you again after that stunt that shit Darris pulled with your sister. So I left.”

Serahlin pauses and leans back to look at Selene, even more confused than before.

“I don’t like Dirthamen.” She says simply, “I mean, not like  _that_. He’s nice and all, but not the one for me. Wait…did you think…oh Selene, no, no, no, no, honey,  _no._  I do not hate you, could never hate you.” And she pulls her friend back into the hug, kicking the door shut.

This then sparks a whole conversation on who likes whom, that no, Dirthamen doesn’t have the hots for Serahlin but for Selene – who thought he liked Serahlin? That question brought to them to the topic of Adannar and how he thought Dirthamen and Serahlin were into each other and he had asked Selene to run interference for him, but it was Selene who he liked the entire time.

At that particular revelation, Selene went sheet white and then beet red, “No. That’s not right, I’m…poor, and me. Has he seen me? And my closet? I bet his family’s seen my bank account, it’s ridiculous, he can’t be interested –

Serahlin puts her finger on Selene’s lips, “He has seen you, and in many different outfits that actually belong to you, and who cares about your bank account? Selene, he likes you.”

“But….you’re,” then Selene gestures wildly to Serahlin’s person.

“Yes?”

“You! I mean, would you look at yourself? You’ve got the body and the clothes and the grades and the money and the car and the face, you could be a model you know and you’re so confident and sexy.”

Serahlin sighs and stands up. She lifts her dress up to reveal a flesh colored pair of spanx.

“I have to wear spanx, my stomach, no matter what I do, bows out too much and I tend to carry all my fat in my hips, which makes finding jeans such a pain. You have a flat stomach and nice hips. I’m not perfect, Selene. Why do you think I always change alone?” She pulls her dress down and sits back down, crossing her arms over her chest.

Did Selene really think that Serahlin is this perfect person? By the Creators, she dated Darris the Dick! That clearly shows  _some_  flaw in judgement. And besides, even if she was perfect, she isn’t the girl for Dirthamen, and he’s not the guy for her.

“Dirthamen likes  _you_ , Selene. And if you don’t like him back, that’s fine, you can tell him and he will back off, I’ll make sure of that.”

“He can do better.” Selene continues, backing slightly from Serahlin.

“Excuse me? Have you looked at yourself? Miss gorgeous hair and high fashion body and wicked smart? You’re so strikingly beautiful, he’d be out of his mind to not want to date you.” Serahlin asserts. Selene shifts uncomfortably in her seat from the compliment and shakes her head.

“You don’t have to say that…”

“What? The truth? Clearly I must if you will not see it yourself.” But now Selene looks truly uncomfortable so Serahlin drops it. She pulls the girl back into for a hug and they stay there for a long time before Serahlin’s stomach growls.

“Do you want to order a pizza?” Selene offers quietly.

“Creators,  _yes._ ”

 

~

 

 

After Serahlin leaves, the party begins to die down, as if the entire thing was held in her honor and only continued at her whim. Which it may have very well been, everybody loves her so Adannar wouldn’t be exactly surprised if Tasallir and Dirthamen had decided to have this for her. 

Adannar’s mind lingers on Dirthamen’s name, and an odd sorrowful emotion creeps into him. His lips harden into a thin line and he feels the sudden urge to curl up in a ball in his bed and binge on Flaming Hot Cheetos and Oreos. He can’t even hate the guy for being in love with Serahlin, she’s…amazing, and beautiful and kind and smart. Serahlin is  _so_  smart, she can get anyone to do anything. But she’s so sweet about it, she never uses her powers for bad, only to help and to make people happy. Adannar has never met anyone like her, and he was, is, really hoping that maybe she could like him too. 

She accepted the necklace, and had said it was pretty, so he had thought that maybe he was getting his wish. But then her face had fallen and everything fell apart. He doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t even know what he did so he can properly apologize! All he knows is that she began to cry after he gave her a necklace and then was whisked away by Tasallir. 

Maybe Tasallir’s interested in her too. Which would really suck because he is infinitely more stylish than Adannar. 

Man, this sucks. And this party sucks. And Darris sucks.

He heads out to the porch to clear his head, look at the stars or something, maybe that’ll help. But instead he finds Darris with some poor unsuspecting girl in his lap. 

His brow furrows in anger, no, he can’t do this to another girl.

“Hey dude, stop that,” he says. Darris lifts his head up from the girl in confusion.

“Bro, what is your problem? We’re just having a good time!”

“I’m not your bro, asshole!”

“Oh, you’re  _Adannar_. Look, man, Serahlin ain’t worth your time, she’s frigid and controlling.” And as if the conversation is over, he turns back to the girl on his lap. 

Adannar’s chest hurts, more than when his arm strain from rowing, or when his legs burn. It aches and he doesn’t like it,  _at all._  

“You don’t like her because you can’t control her, asshole.” He mutters before heading back inside. Tasallir is there, talking with Vena and Ana about something, but Adannar can’t bring himself to care. 

He rubs at his chest and wonders if Thenvunin or Aelynthi would be up for a good hug later. No crying though, bros don’t cry. Even if they really, really want to. 

Aelynthi is the first to find him, a perturbed look on his face that seems to be a permanent installation after Victory left. 

“This party is boring, you ready to head out?” He asks.

“Yeah, just need to find Thenvunin. Sib said that they’re room is occupied tonight so they’re coming home with bro,” Adannar replies. Now to find the proper closet they’ve sequestered themselves in. 

As it turns out, they’re not in a closet, they’re in a bathroom. Adannar opens the door up and Thenvunin falls onto him with a loud cry, accidentally kicking out and sending Uthvir sprawling onto their back. Adannar falls back, trying to catch his suddenly descending bro. 

“AH!” 

“SHIT!”

“OOMF.” 

This…this is a good end to the party, Adannar thinks. With Thenvunin trying to lift himself off of Adannar’s now aching body, desperately trying to shove himself back in his pants while Uthvir laughs, rubbing the back of their head. 

And while scandalized and embarrassed, the odd couple is happy. Adannar can feel it, everyone can see it. 

Once everyone is righted, Uthvir is close to Thenvunin, wrapping an arm around his waist to rest a possessive hand on his hip. They lean up up and nip at Thenvunin’s jaw, a surprisingly affectionate gesture that has Adannar rubbing his chest again as new pain flares up.

They have a good relationship. Adannar wants that, wants the respect and adoration, maybe even the wild and sometimes, many times really, inappropriate sex. 

“Sorry bro, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Adannar apologizes, which does nothing for Thenvunin’s redness - but red’s a good color on him, he shouldn’t worry so much.

They make a final round, saying goodbye to Vena and Tasallir and Ana before piling into Adannar’s hatchback. Somehow Thenvunin squeezes himself into the backseat with Uthvir and…Adannar is pretty sure they’re doing something naughty.

“Bro, not on the upholstery please,” he turns the key in the ignition and turns the radio on, only to accidentally switch it to his personal music.

“MAKING MY WAY DOWNTOWN-

He quickly switches it -

“AND I WOULD WALK FIVE HUNDRED MILES -

“This damn thing…” he mutters before switching it to the station they were listening to before. Only to find that from midnight to four AM, there is a D&D radio group that takes over that particular station. 

Adannar switches the radio off and they drive home in silence. It’s not a long drive, just a couple blocks to their own house, but it’s long enough for everyone to feel a good bit awkward. The urge to speak builds and builds in Adannar until he can’t help it, he just….

“Serahlin hates me.” He says miserably.

“Why? What’d you do, bro?” Thenvunin asks.

“I don’t know, bro! I gave her a necklace, and maybe it was ugly? Maybe she realized it was ugly but felt socially obligated to put it on? I don’t know, bro.”

“Didn’t she just break up with Darris?” Aelynthi asks.

“Yeah, like last week, she caught him sleeping with her sister.” Thenvunin says. It was five days ago, Adannar knows, he texted Selene wanting to go out for drinks only to find that she was busy comforting the newly single Serahlin.

“Fuck.” Uthvir mutters. 

Adannar pulls into the driveway and turns the car off. They all emerge from the car and head inside.

“So tonight I wanted to be nice to her, give her a necklace, maybe tell her how I feel, bro. Make her happy,” that’s all he wants. He wants to be a reason she smiles, a reason she loves and is happy. He wants to wrap her smiling, laughing person in a great hug, lifting her off the ground, burying his nose in her hair. 

But Uthvir and Aelynthi are shaking their heads, “She  _just_  broke up with her boyfriend, you can’t put that on her.”

“Yeah, and from what it sounds like, her ex is a dick.” Uthvir chimes in. 

Adannar’s ear droop as they make their way into the house, entering the kitchen. 

“Damn, sib, you’re right. And you too, bro, I can’t believe I did that! Stupid,” he says to himself. How could he be so foolish? So headstrong as to think that he could sweep in and sweep her off her feet so soon after everything? 

He doesn’t deserve her, he’s always known that. Dirthamen would be better for her. Tasallir even. But not himself, that is sure. He doesn’t have the class or the money, the style or social standing. He has his bros, and…and his rowing and some pieces of jewelry. Why would she ever go for him?

A hand clasps on his shoulder and he looks up at Thenvunin. 

“Bro, stop that. You’re gonna give yourself frown lines.” 

“You need to give her time. Call her tomorrow and apologize,” Aelynthi opens up the freezer and produces the giant gallon of ice cream. He promptly pulls out bowls and spoons and begins to serve each of them, 

“I think I love her,” he says softly after Aelynthi slides the bowl over to him. Everyone pauses.

“That’s rough, bro.”

That is one way to describe it.

An hour later and everyone is retiring to their beds, prompted by a surprisingly late call from Victory which has Aelynthi quickly and not so subtly running off to his room. 

Uthvir practically drags Thenvunin into his room, leaving Adannar alone with the ice cream….

Well, he is not going to bed completely alone, he guesses, taking the rest of the gallon with him to bed. 

 

~

 

The next day is a mess.

Selene falls out of bed, tired and exhausted from the events of the party and her late night pizza with Serahlin. Her alarm is already blaring and she groans when she notices that she’s running late for work.

Tossing on a ripped up pair of jeans, a loose shirt that she’s pretty sure is clean, and throwing her hair into a ponytail, she grabs her bag and phone and dashes out towards the library.

When she does arrive, she tosses her bag down in the breakroom and makes her way to her station to find-

“You’re late,” Melanadahl teases, tossing a pencil eraser at her. It bounces off of her forehead and she gives a defeated sigh.

“I know.”

“You’ve got collating duty,”

Selene groans and Melanadahl laughs “You should’ve been on time then!”

 

“I had a rough night alright, give me a break,” she grumbles, even as she moves the stacks of copied papers to the table and grabs a stapler and a few additional boxes of staples to go with it.

“Oh? What happened?”

Selene eyes Melanadahl and his relaxed posture “Shouldn’t you be working instead of gossiping?”

“Nah. Professor Innovation put me in charge as Supervisor today while she’s out,” he grins.

Selene rolls her eyes, but offers an abridged version of the parties events, minus names and her flashbacks.

 

“You _ran out_  on the guy? Oh, that poor bastard.”

“I  _know_ , okay? Turns out he wasn’t even interested in the other girl, so I just blew it over nothing,” she sighs.

“Well, it wasn’t  _nothing_ if you were uncomfortable enough to want to stop. At least he listened without arguing, that makes him better than like, half the other guys at this school.”

“Charming,” Selene drawls.

 

“You want a rebound? I could hook you up. I got guys, girls, neithers, humans, elves, dwarfs, Qunari’s,  _irresistibly charming tattooed coworkers?_ ” he implies with a playful eyebrow wiggle.

“No. That’s pretty much the opposite of what I need at this point. I think I’ll just hole up in my room for a while and focus back on my studies.”

“That’s no way to live,” Melanadahl frowns.

Selene just shrugs “It works for me.”

 

Another hour passes and the conversation turns to other things before Melanadahl scowls at something over her shoulder. Selene turns to find out what, and sees Venavismi pushing a very reluctant Dirthamen into the library. Their eyes lock for a moment, and Selene is caught fighting off her ‘flight’ instincts by reminding herself that she is at work and she most definitely can not run out after being late.

Dirthamen seems to straighten up a bit when he realizes he’s been seen, and slowly makes his way towards them, gripping something tightly in his hand.

Melanadahl scowls at him the whole way over, and Selene can still see Vena’s head sticking out around the door frame of the librarys entrance. He waves at her, and she just shakes her head at him.

Dirthamen clears his throat when he finally arrives at the table.

 

“Selene,” he greets awkwardly.

 

“Oh. Uh, hi, Dirthamen.” She responds, giving him a forced smile. “Can I help you with something?”

 

“I just…” he turns to look at Vena who gives him a thumbs up before turning back to face Selene. He awkwardly holds out an envelope towards her, and she stares at it for a minute before tentatively accepting it.

“I am sorry if I offended you last night.” he says with a bow, before practically speed walking back out of the library.

 

Selene looks down at the envelope in her hand and back towards the door Dirthamen ran out of a few times, wondering what the hell just happened.

 

“He was the guy you ran out on?” Melanadahl asks, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Figured that out yourself, did you?” She jokes, even as she feels something settling like lead in the pit of her stomach.

Melanadahl scoffs “You made the right call.”

“That’s a rude thing to say.”

“Whatever. He’s probably put a non-disclosure or something in that envelope for you to sign  to help his family save face that he got turned down.”

“He’s not that kind of guy. He’s very sweet, actually. What’s your problem?”

Melanadahl is surprisingly quiet for a minute before he gives a shrug “Bad blood. Trust me, you’re better off without him around.”

 

Selene sighs then, and sticks the envelope in her back pocket; she’ll have to check it when she’s back in her room.

–

The rest of her workday goes slowly, but her phone vibrates in her pocket a few times. Once she’s finished making all of the packets for what she’s fairly certain is the entire STEM department at this point, she stretches until her shoulders pop and Melanadahl gives her a grossed out look at the sound.

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he waves as she makes her way out of the library, checking her messages.

She’s got one from Serahlin making sure she’s ok, another from Elanna doing the same, and a surprising amount from Adannar? She opens the conversation with him and scrolls through it

→ sel help i screwed up

→ pls sel

→ not cool sel i thought u wer a bro  
→ i didnt mean that plz help me  
→ seeeeeeeeeleeeeeeene my future wife hates me pls help  
→ :(

→  :(((((

→ i shoulda done the poem instead i scrwd up sel help me fix things pls

→ Thenv said i shld get her a bird but i dont think shed even like that i think hes just too into birds

→ sel

→ sel im at the pet store

→ do you think Serahlin would like a puppy?

→ sel i want a puppy  
→ img.09210.12.16 received

→ sel im gonna buy this puppy

→ thenv said i cant have a puppy at the house

→ can i move in wit u

 

 

Selene sighs and shoots back her own text.

→ I just got out of work. What happened?

 

Her phone starts to ring almost instantly and she takes a deep breath before answering

“Hello?”

“Seeeeeeeel my bro mi amiga my compadre my falon-”

“What happened?”

“I found this awesome bar that lets you bring dogs in, for starters. I’m buyin’, come join me. Drinking alone is way boring, apparently.”

Selene sighs and looks at the sky, where the sun is starting to set “I don’t have a car, Adannar. How am I supposed to get there?”

“Nah, it’s close to the school. I’ll text you the address. Thanks Sel, you’re the best!” he clicks off.

She plugs the address into her phones GPS and heads out then.

One of these days, she’ll learn to say no to people that she  _doesn’t_ have a crush on. She hopes.

–

Selene arrives after about twenty minutes, and sees Adannar sitting alone at a booth with an empty beer bottle and rolling the bottlecap around on the tabletop for a very small golden retriever to tumble after.

“I didn’t know you had a twin,” She jokes as she sits in the seat across from him

“Sel! I know, right? He’s like the perfect bro. He can jog with me and he’s small enough to fit in my boat when I go rowing. I heard that dogs are like, really good swimmers.”

“Sure, I guess,” Selene allows “So what happened?”

 

Adannar lets out an uncharacteristically heavy sigh and tells her about the necklace, Serahlins breakdown, and Tasallirs rescue.

Selene feels a brief pang of guilt when she thinks of Serahlin comforting  _her_ last night so soon after she had apparently had her own breakdown, and resolves to do something else for her in return once she has some free time.

 

“Your friends are right. You probably should have waited before you gave her the necklace. Darris used to give her a lot of gifts, especially after he screwed up. I thought you were just going to talk to her?”

“I know, Sel, but I just got so caught up in the moment that I didn’t think it would be enough, and I had it with me-”

 

“You just carry around hand-made gifts for Serahlin?”

 

“You gotta be prepared for spontaneous romance, Sel,”

 

Selene just shakes her head “You’re something else, Adannar.”

 

“Thanks Sel, you too!” he grins. “Oh, I heard somethin’ happened to Dirthamen last night. Were you around for that?”

Selene groans and takes a long drink from her vodka-cranberry before telling the story. Again. Adannars new puppy is fast asleep by the end of it.

“Holy shit, Sel. That was cold.”

“Yeah, that seems to be the general consensus. Good news though, Serahlin isn’t interested in Dirthamen that way. And supposedly he isn’t into her like that either.”

“Really?” he perks up.

“Really.”

“He seemed super into someone though. I’ve heard him talking about it with people before.”

 

Selene finishes her drink and stares at the bottom of the empty glass. Dirthamen liking Serahlin was a misunderstanding. Serahlin thinking he likes Selene is probably just another one, she’s pretty sure.

“I dunno. It’s a mystery.” she mutters.

 

Adannar calls for another round, and then another, and then yet another, as the night continues on.

 

“An-an-and then,” he slurs “And then he wuz just-just-screwin some other girl! In public! Like-I mean how could he-”

 

“What a fucking asshole.” Selene asserts, pointing dramatically at ceiling. The puppy licks her cheek a few times and she bursts out into giggles “Not you da'fen, you’re wonderful,”

 

“I knoooooow that’s what I said!” Adannar proclaims “Thenv said-said we can’t have dogs though.”

“That’s awful. Thenv sounds awful.”

“Naaaaah, he’s a good bro. He’s just sore about his birds I think. Maybe he just doesn’t like dogs. D'ya think Serahlin likes dogs?”

“I think anything that’s gonna teethe on her shoes is gonna be a hard no, Addy,” Selene says sadly.

“Awwwwwww…D'you think you could take him then?”

Selene sighs “I can’t. I could get kicked out of my apartment if I hide a pet in my room. Then I’d be homeless, and probably get kicked out of school, and then I’ll just die alone in a ditch somewhere probably.”

Adannar blinks slowly at Selene “Shit, that’s heavy. You doin ok Sel?”

“No,” she groans “I really liked this stupid cute guy and I was making out with him and stuff and then I pushed him off of me and ran away without giving him a reason why because I am the actual worst.”

 

“That Sucks, Sel.”

 

“I knoooooow! And then when he showed up today he was all polite and shy and cute and he gave me this envelope and-” she pauses then.

“I still haven’t opened the envelope,” she says slowly as she pulls it out of her pocket, and stares at the now crumpled object.

 

“Oh shit! Ya gotta open it Sel!”

 

Selene bites down on her lower lip “I can’t.” she shoves it towards Adannar “You do it.”

“I dunno,-”

“Come on, be a Bro, Addy!”

He straightens his shoulders then and takes it from her, carefully opening it and peaking inside “It’s a letter, I think.”

Selenes heart beats heavily in her chest “Read it, read it.”

Adannar unfolds the paper and squints his eyes over it “Oh shit, Sel. This is really beautiful. You should read this. Like, holy shit.”

 

Selene reaches over the table to try to grab it out of Adannars hands, but he lifts it away, still reading through it’s contents “Holy shit, Sel. You gotta talk to this guy-” he says before letting out a shriek as Selene loses her balance and falls over on top of him.

 

“That’s it, get outta my bar!” Ess cries from behind the counter.

Selene yelps, and apologizes, taking the puppy under her arm and dashing out. Adannar leaves a large wad of cash on the table and follows closely behind her.

 

They’re laughing for most of what becomes a run back to Adannars house. Not really sure what they’re running from, but Adannar ushers them both into his room, giving a “shhhhhh” signal to Aelynthi as they pass him in the living room.

They collapse onto his bed, laughing and Selene releases the small dog who eagerly jumps around the room, licking the pair of them and bouncing around the furniture.

 

Neither of them is really sure when precisely they fell asleep, but Selene wakes in the morning to a wet, warm tongue licking her cheek, and blinks her eyes open to the sight of a very grumpy Thenvunin staring down at them with his arms crossed.

“I very much hope, that that creature belongs to  _you_ ,” he says pointedly to Selene.

She glances over at Adannar through her headache, and he is giving her the sort of puppy dog eyes that would outdo the  _actual_  puppy in the room and sighs.

Well. Apparently they have a dog now.

 

~

 

_Dear Selene,_

_First, I would like to say that I am very sorry for making you uncomfortable the other night. I in no way intended to press an unwanted pursuit upon you, and i fully respect your decision to leave. But I would like to ask that you forgive my presumption. I value your friendship and presence, even if all hope of a romantic pursuit must be abandoned. Please know that I will never touch you again without your express and clear consent. Unless you are in life-threatening danger, such as being caught in the path of an oncoming train, and initiating physical contact is the only way to prevent your untimely demise. Then I will not waste precious seconds acquiring permission, but I will cease contact once the danger has passed, and offer suitable apologies after the fact._

_I am sorry if this letter is a further offence. I am not good at social contact, and never have been, though Venavismi assures me that this is an acceptable approach. He said I should transcribe my thoughts on you. But I understand if you would not care to hear them, so do not feel obligated to read further, please._

_You are very beautiful. You make me think of glass sculptures, and pear trees, and an unexpected swell of music in an otherwise placid song. You are brilliant. I have overheard you discussing the intersections of mathematics and science in ways that betray an artistry of thought that is rare and magnificent. You are kind. You spent an entire party sitting with a girl you did not even know while she threw up in the bathroom, once._

_I would like to know you better. Through more than just our few encounters and observations. I would like to apologize in whatever manner you deem sufficient. But if that door is closed, I understand. I will respect your wishes, with regards to how things should proceed. Please do not be afraid of me. If you are afraid, and there is something I can do to make you less so, please tell me what it is._

_Yours,_

_Dirthamen Sairal Evanuris_

 

~

 

Uthvir is not sure why Adannar decides to dump a puppy into their lap.

It’s… not really  _uncharacteristic_  of the man, though, so they find themselves fairly unsurprised by the move. The wriggly golden retriever looks up at them with friendly brown eyes, and immediately plants a paw in their chest and starts licking their jaw.

“Okay, so, the thing is,” Adannar says. Uthvir glances around, but even though he was ostensibly being led to Thenvunin, Thenvunin does not actually seem to be in this room. Adannar shuffles on his feet. “The thing is, stuff’s been going on. And. Um. Well, Aelynthi’s sad because Victory’s at war, and Thenvunin’s sad because his bird died, and Serahlin’s sad because I’m an idiot, and Selene’s sad because she ran out on Dirthamen, and Dirthamen’s sad because Selene ran out on him, and you know what’s guaranteed to make people less sad, sib? Puppies. Like, don’t you already feel less sad?”

The puppy enthusiastically headbutts Uthvir in the chin.

If Adannar wasn’t standing right in front of them, they might suspect of him possessing some heretofore undemonstrated talent for shapeshifting. As it is, they grab the puppy by the scruff, and gently pry it back.

“Is there a point to this?” they ask.

Adannar looks at the puppy, and then to their alarm, starts to tear up.

“I just – I just, he’s all small and that pet shop was terrible, sib, like I couldn’t just leave him there, and I know Aelynthi says that buying from unethical suppliers just encourages them but he’s just a little puppy, y’know? He doesn’t understand painful cycles of commercialization. And he’s so cute and good and he tries so hard even though he messes stuff up sometimes it’s just because he really loves everybody and he doesn’t always think before he acts, and Selene doesn’t want to get evicted and I just thought the necklace would be nice and it’s not  _fair_  for some puppy to get kicked out on the street just because Thenvunin likes birds better and Tasallir’s probably going to side with him this time, and normally I’d be like ‘hey, great, maybe they’ll get along more!’ but what about the puppy, sib? Sometimes they kill dogs at shelters!”

Uthvir blinks.

Rewinds all of that.

Blinks again.

“I’m sorry, Adannar. I  _barely_  speak Incomprehensible Thenvunin, I’m afraid your dialect is still a little beyond me,” they admit. But they lift up the puppy and offer it back to him, because it, at least, seems willing to enthusiastically lick his face.

Uthvir frankly doesn’t have that kind of relationship with Adannar.

“Also, unless your puppy has expressed a preference for masculine pronouns, I think you should probably go with ‘she’,” they offer.

“Oh, she’s a lady. Like Serahlin,” Adannar says, and then starts crying.

It’s not dignified crying, either.

It’s wet, wracking sobs, as he collapses to the floor with the puppy in his lap.

Well, shit.

They check the room around them – it appears to be Adannar’s – and find some tissues in one of the desk drawers. They try and hand him a few, but as soon as he has them, the puppy tears them out of his hand and starts enthusiastically chewing them to bits. Waggling its tail and trying to play with Adannar. Which… actually seems to be an effective approach, as, after a few minutes, Adannar is petting it and chuckling wetly rather than sobbing onto his floor.

Uthvir sighs.

“Thenvunin doesn’t like the dog?” they surmise.

“He says it violates house rules,” Adannar replies. “But I think he’s just mad because he can’t keep birds here.”

The puppy starts eating the tissue bits.

“Do you have food for her?” they ask, looking around the room. “A collar? Leash? Bed? She’s going to need to be trained, and have a space to sleep in. You’ll have to walk her every day, rain or shine,  _multiple_  times a day. Puppies need special food, too, I saw it on a commercial.”

Adannar blinks up at them.

“I took her to a bar,” he says. “Ess gave her some meat? She liked it.”

Uthvir sighs.

“Is Thenvunin even  _here?”_  they ask.

Adannar has the grace to look shame-faced.

“He’s out with Aelynthi,” he admits. “Helping him deal. Y’know. With Victory, and all. Like, he’s not talking about it, but everyone knows. And Vena’s off trying to get Ana to open up about whatever’s been bothering her, or else I’m pretty sure he’d come down on my side. But he hasn’t answered my texts yet.”

“Pick yourself up,” Uthvir decides. “Get some shoes on and find a shirt somewhere. You have a car, right?”

Adannar nods, blearily, and after a few minutes Uthvir manages to get him in his car – with themselves behind the steering wheel, no less – holding the puppy and jabbering on about seashells that look like Serahlin’s eyes.

Which is ridiculous.

 _Thenvunin’s_  eyes look like seashells. Serahlin’s eyes are… a different colour, they’re pretty sure.

They drive down to the thrift store, first, and manage to scrounge up a bunch of suitable old toys and thinks for the puppy to destroy and a dog bed for her to sleep on. Adannar approves of it on the grounds of the cheery yellow sun in the middle. Then they make their way to one of the big pet outlet stores, where the employees enthuse over the puppy, and happily take Adannar aside to go and deplete his savings on leashes and harnesses and, somehow, despite their first stop, yet more toys, and books on training, and other things while Uthvir carefully inspects the birds in the far corner of the store.

They have, incidentally, actually been doing some research into this since the Nightingale Incident. There are a lot of ‘designer’ species of pets, and birds are no exception, and Thenvunin’s healthy phone library of photos of his fancy pet songbirds and parrots and whatever the hell that one demonic-looking thing was has led them to believe that he’s used to dealing with those kinds of animals. The show-y, high-maintenance kind, which need whole gardens and aviaries and can’t really make do in a bedroom with a roomy cage.

But Uthvir has a niggling suspicion – just a hint of a one – that Thenvunin will actually fall in love with anything with wings.

While Adannar is busy winning over the canine section of the store, Uthvir commandeers one of the employees from the bird section. It takes a few hours, all tolled, to go over everything. Adannar insists on getting a number of different foods for his dog to try, and doesn’t even seem to realize that Uthvir has acquired a large cage and a bag of bird feed and a pair of small, peeping boxes until they’re loading everything into the car.

“Sib?” he asks, uncertainly. “Did you just… buy some birds?”

Uthvir contemplates the delicate bird boxes, and the arrangement of the car, and the overstuffed trunk.

“You ride in the back with the dog. The birds take the front seat,” they decide.

Adannar doesn’t complain, though he does seem curious.

“I didn’t know you were into birds,” he says.

“I’m not,” Uthvir replies, and carefully settles the bird box onto the front seat, with the dog bed acting as a buffer against slipping. “But it’s like this, Adannar. If you can have your pet and Thenvunin  _can’t_  have his, he will find that unfair and sulk and resent it. If, however, Thenvunin is presented with the opportunity to have his  _own_  pet, then he becomes a giant hypocrite for begrudging you yours.”

Adannar blinks.

“So you mean… Thenvunin wants birds really bad, and if we give him some birds, he’ll be super stoked and realize that puppies are awesome, too?” he replies.

“Sure,” Uthvir agrees. “We’ll go with that.”

When they get back to the House, Thenvunin and Aelynthi are still out. Venavismi is back, but he’s sitting in the hallway softly singing ‘Cherry Bomb’ into his phone, so they decide to leave him to it. Uthvir hauls the cage into Thenvunin’s room – which, conveniently, has an empty space towards one wall that’s of a decent size for such things – and sets everything up, fills the water dispensers and makes sure the perches are secured, before they go and get the box from the car. When they pass by the hall again, Venavismi has the puppy, and seems to be trying to get it to speak into the phone with him.

The puppy obligingly yips and then tries to eat his belt.

Uthvir closes Thenvunin’s blinds, on a hunch that keeping things dim will help keep the birds calmer for a bit, and then gently lets a pair of finches into the bedroom cage.

Brightweed Finches, or ‘Elf Finches’ as they’re often called outside of Arlathan – are tiny, low maintenance, low-volume birds that socialize well in pairs, don’t have complex dietary requirements, and prefer small, enclosed spaces. They’re a plain brown colour, but the two Uthvir picked out have cream-coloured stomachs that look very soft, and bright green beaks. They hop around the bottom of their cage for a bit, before getting re-acquainted with one another – the salesmen had helped them find two who were already friends – and then fluttering up to one of the perches.

If Thenvunin doesn’t like it, they can be returned. For store credit – which, Uthvir doesn’t know how much mileage they’ll get out of pet store credit, but if Adannar keeps the dog then, well.

They’re in a charitable mood for some reason, they suppose.

They hang around, though, because they’re well aware that ‘surprise I got you a pet’ is not precisely the most…  _wise_  of ventures, all tolled. At some point Elanna shows up, and they talk about study notes for a while before her life is consumed by Adannar’s puppy.

“What are you going to name her?” Elanna wonders.

“I’m still deciding,” Adannar admits.

Play sessions occasionally break away into attempts at ‘training’, which Uthvir finds themselves participating in, as the dog is taken into the main room and various behavioural games are tested. She’s a smart puppy. She stops trying to climb in Uthvir’s lap after the third time, and figures out in short order that Elanna has little-to-no recourse against furious tail-wagging and face-kisses. And then Adannar is a complete pushover who will give her treats whether or not she actually does something worthy of a reward.

Vena and Uthvir seem to produce the best results in terms of actually holding her attention and getting her on the road to learning ‘sit’. She seems to have it mostly figured out by the time Thenvunin and Aelynthi get back.

“ _Bro,_  we went  _over_  this. No pets _,”_  Thenvunin protests, agitated, as Aelynthi heads over to get his shoelaces mauled.

Then Thenvunin spots Uthvir, though, and he seems to come up a little short.

Uthvir smirks, and slides down off the couch.

“Hey, babe,” they greet. “I’ve been waiting for you. I have something to show you, in your room.”

Thenvunin colours, and then glances at the rest of his fraternity – plus Elanna, who is playing with the puppy and one of those rope toys – and then clears his throat.

“Sib, I gotta maintain order,” he says. “Cool your jets, okay?”

Uthvir chuckles, and snags him by the fabric of his pocket.

“Come on,” they say. “Just let me show you. Then you can decide if you want to rain on everyone’s parade about the dog or not.” They give him a tug, and Thenvunin goes as surely as if they’d wrapped him in irons. His cheeks flushed, his throat bobbing as Uthvir draws him down the hall and into his room, and then…

He stops.

His gaze lands on the cage, and his eyes go wide.

“What…?”

“I texted Tasallir a week ago,” Uthvir says. “Have you actually read your regulations? Pets are allowed. They just can’t be classified as  _exotic pets._  Dogs? Finches? Those are fine.”

Thenvunin walks up to the cage, slowly. He has, they think, completely switched gears. His shoulders are a little lax, and as they watch he whistles, and the little finches turn and look at him. Fluttering their wings and tilting their heads, before twittering back. They move towards the closer perches, and Uthvir watches as Thenvunin looks them over. Just a couple of healthy, tiny birds.

“Brightweed Finches,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “They have the green beaks, they must have come from Northern Orlais. They usually live for about seven years. My garden back home would be too dangerous for them, they’re not big enough. But…”

He trails off, and then swallows.

“I mean, that’s a bit presumptuous of you, sib. Buying me pets and all. That’s a lot of responsibility, y’know, and I don’t have all that much time to spend socializing birds the way they need.”

“The assistants at the pet store said they would only need an hour or so a day, and otherwise they could keep each other company,” Uthvir replies. “But I can return them, if it’s a bad idea. You could keep them for the day, at least, before I do.”

They have deep suspicions, though, that is already a done deal. Thenvunin opens the cage door, and gently reaches in to brush a finger over the nearest finch’s head. It blinks at him, and flutters its wings a little, and he smiles.

“Hey, birdie,” he says. “Look at your fat tummy. You’ve got such a fat tummy, bro.”

Uthvir snickers.

“I guess I could try it out, for a little while. See if it works,” Thenvunin decides, and keeps on brushing the finch until the other one hops over for attention. Uthvir grins, and stretches out on his bed; satisfied as they watch Thenvunin fuss over and talk to his new pets.

Adannar’s probably going to be able to keep the dog, they think.

 

~

 

Serahlin wakes up to beautiful rhythmic chimes. Oh. Her phone’s ringing.

She thrusts her hand out and answers the phone before checking to see who’s calling, which turns out to be a mistake.

“Serahlin, sweetheart!” Her mamae says. Serahlin immediately straightens in her bed at her mamae’s voice.

“Mamae, good morning, how are you?” Her voice unfortunately is still raspy from sleep and her mother tsks at her.

“Da’len, you know how sound in the morning, you should have let this go to voice mail if you were going to sound like a man.”

“Ir abelas, Mamae. I don’t have a class until 10AM and it’s…only 7:30 right now, I usually don’t wake up for another hour.” She climbs out of bed and begins to pace. It is entirely too early to be dealing with her mamae, and without coffee nonetheless.

“I thought we discussed you waking up at six.”

“I know, but that doesn’t happen a lot since none of my classes require me to wake that early and I prefer to get as much sleep as I can. Now, Mamae, I had a really rough night, can I call you back?” She can’t even leave the room to go get coffee, not without alerting her sisters to her family’s drama, and she would much rather keep this under wraps. The girls are already gossiping about her, Darris, and now probably Adannar.

“Speaking of rough nights, your sister called and said you broke up with Darris! Why on earth would you do that?”

“Mamae…he slept with Elvara.” Serahlin’s voice is quiet and her stomach does that twisting thing every time she thinks about it. Her sister, naked and writhing while he…he…

She doesn’t want to think about it.

“Da’len, I understand you’re upset, but people make mistakes! You can’t expect him to be perfect.” Her mamae drawls. Serahlin hesitates for a moment, some of part of her agreeing with her mother while a much louder part of her wants to simply scream.

“I know, but I can expect him not to break my heart and continually hurt me. That wasn’t the first time he cheated, and it wouldn’t have been the last. We’re done, mother, end of discussion.” And then she hangs up. She doesn’t need to justify to her own adulterous mother about why she is upset with her ex, why she never wants to get back together.

She heads out to the kitchen to fix herself a large, black pot of coffee. She is going to wear all black today, with a very large hat, she thinks.

But then thirty minutes later and her phone rings again. She checks the caller ID this time and sighs. Memae this time.

She hesitates before accepting the call. Memae will understand.

“Who am I killing and do you have a preference of method?” She says immediately. Serahlin chuckles.

“No one, just…maybe making sure Mamae stops trying to convince me to get back together with Darris?” She asks. Memae scoffs.

“Ugh, that idiot. Thank the Maker you broke up with him. Oh, I mean,  _Creators._ And of course, baby, I can do that. Now I know it’s early, but I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay. Elvara was…not very polite in her description of what happened.”  _That’s because Elvara isn’t very polite,_ Serahlin almost responds, but she bites her tongue. She loves her sister, even if she is…not exactly the kindest person.

“Yes, I’m…working through it. Last night was just…” she rubs her face, struggling to find the words this early in the morning, “rough.”

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

Serahlin sighs and thinks she might as well, everyone else knows, there’s no harm in Memae knowing. So she explains to her arriving at the party, Selene and Ana going off to their respective corners while she rounded with Tasallir. She talks about Adannar and about how nice to her he was and she still cried and had to be helped away by a wonderfully protective Tasallir. She doesn’t go too into detail about Selene and Dirthamen, however, feeling like that’s more between her friends. But she does tell her about how Selene thought Dirthamen liked Serahlin.

“He…doesn’t like you, right?” Memae is suddenly very serious sounding and Serahlin knows it’s because of Dirthamen’s family. The Evanuris have a reputation after all.

“No, he doesn’t. He likes Selene.”

“Oh that poor girl. If she needs a name change or anything, I know some people who can help her. Where are her parents? Should I speak with them?” Ah, the management mother, always ready to help and to over-mother.

Serahlin smiles but shakes her head at the phone, “No, no, she’s okay, but I will pass on the message if it will make you feel better. But Dirthamen isn’t like the rest of his family, he’s…a little odd, but kind.”

“I’m…not convinced, but I trust you. Alright, baby, I have to go, I have a meeting but text me if you need anything, okay? Bye, love you!”

“Love you, too.” Serahlin taps ‘end’ and feels a bit of her stress ebb away. It’s always easier with Memae since she actually tries to understand, and she bizarrely understands Serahlin despite her drab fashion sense. By the end of the call, it’s time to get ready, and she amends her all black outfit for a patterned maxi-dress and wedges. It carries the added benefit of not having to wear a bra. But she keeps the hat and gives herself a flawless cat-eye, before heading to class.

She’s at lunch when her phone buzzes again, chiming at her. She considers it a moment, she could just not answer, let it go to voice mail. She looks at her half-eaten meal and decides that it’s best to just…deal with it later.

Two classes and a lab later and she dials her voicemail, finally done with classes for the day.

“One new message.

“ _Hey, Serahlin, it’s Adannar. I hope you’re doing okay. Or better than okay, I hope you’re great. Not that you’re not already great because you are! I-I mean. I um, I wanted to call to apologize for last night. I didn’t mean to overstep or overwhelm you or anything. I know I can be a bit too much and I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better. No, I_ will  _do better. Anyways, I am really sorry and if there is anything I can do to help, just let me know. Okay, I’m…gonna go now. I…really liked seeing you last night. Alright, really going now…bye.”_

She’s smiling by the end of the message and her heart is oddly light in her chest. She doesn’t erase it and heads to his frat house instead, she should talk to him about this, after all. It wasn’t his fault and she really doesn’t want him thinking it is his fault.

Serahlin knocks on the door and Thenvunin answers….shirtless…and disheveled.

“Hello, Thenvunin. I was wondering if Adannar is home?”

“Yeah, bro came home with a dog and Selene about an hour ago.” He lets her in and she heads for his room, smiling the entire way. She doesn’t understand this happiness but she isn’t questioning it too closely. If she likes being around him, then…she should be around him, right? Maybe not even dates at first, just…hanging out. Watching cooking shows together or she could take him shopping.

Serahlin is having a marvelous time imagining this little friendship with him when she knocks on his slightly cracked door. There is a loud thump and worry works its way through her enough to make her open the door.

To find Selene sprawled out on his bed and him shirtless with a  small, wiggling puppy on the end of the bed.

_Darris is leaning over a small girl, naked, sweating, thrusting into her. He’s groaning profanities into her neck while she laughs and moans, arching into him._

_Serahlin stands there, shocked and horrified. The girl turns her face to Serahlin and she drops her purse._

_“Elvara?”_

But this time it’s not her sister, but her friend, and a boy who makes her feel confused and happy.

“Serahlin, it’s not what it looks like, wait!” Adannar is saying, but she can’t really hear him, or process what’s going on. She…doesn’t understand. Why didn’t Selene tell her? Why is Adannar pursuing  _her_  if he wantsto sleep with Selene?Is…Serahlin just not enough? For anyone?

She chokes back a sob as she moves through the house at a speed most cannot accomplish in heels.

A hand grips her elbow and turns her to face Adannar.

“Serahlin, nothing happened. Selene and I are just friends, we were at Ess’s and we drank a little too much, nothing happened. Please, Serahlin.”

“Let me go.” She says softly, jerking her body back. She knows he is saying what she wants to hear, but is it just what she wants to hear?

_“It’s just sex Serahlin, you’re the one I love.”_

“Let me go!” She stomps on his foot and he lurches back, swearing at the pain. She’s off, tearing through the house and then out onto the quad, trotting all the way back to her house.

She locks herself in her room and promptly breaks down in tears.


	6. Enansal

Everything in the world is a matter of winning or losing.

You either want something or you don’t, and there’s no in-between. The world won’t wait for you to decide if something is worth the risk, so you can’t waste your time waffling about. Since the day he was born, Victory’s known that truth. If you don’t fight for something with all you’ve got, you didn’t want it bad enough, and you didn’t deserve it in the end.

Important decisions are thrown at you every moment of your life. Split-second choices that can change everything. Whether you accept or let those opportunities pass you by depends on the person. Victory refuses to live a life of regrets, so he plows forward with an almost single-minded purpose.

There are two kinds of victories. The kind that are instantaneous, the product of quick decisions and instinct, and the kind that you have to work for. The ones you have to work for are the hardest, but the most rewarding.

When he wanted to learn to fight, Victory spent hours being beaten into the ground until he could beat back. When he wanted to own a motorcycle he got a job working construction at the age of sixteen and he didn’t stop until he’d saved enough for the bike he wanted. He didn’t settle for something lesser.

No one is going to hand you a gold medal. You have to earn it on your own.

Sometimes you don’t get the gold, either. Sometimes first place is already taken. That just means you try harder next time. You learn from it. If you  _always_  win, winning doesn’t mean anything anymore. You have to accept and learn from your losses, too.

He tattoos the accomplishments on his skin, as a reminder of the things he’s done. The victories he’s snatched up from the jaws of defeat. And he tattoos the near-misses, and the losses, so that he can remember how it  _feels_  to win, and why he strives so hard toward that goal.

He remembers the exact moment he knew he wanted Aelynthi. He’d been arguing about the price of ordering a new starter relay for his bike and he glanced out the window and saw him.

Five seconds was all it took, a glimpse of peacock-colored eyes lined in black and light glinting off a gold bullring and he’d reacted.

—

Victory hurriedly calls back to the man behind the counter that he’ll be back and runs out of the shop and catches sight of the slender elf turning right down the next street. He hurries after him, heart hammering in his chest, adrenaline singing through his veins. He calls out, but the other man doesn’t turn.

He needs to talk to them. He doesn’t know why, but there’s a tightness in his chest that’s deepening with each breath.

Victory always goes for things he wants.

And he  _wants_ , he just doesn’t know why.

He cuts in front of him, close enough to be noticed, but far enough away that they don’t collide. The slender elf blinks, brow furrowed as he slows to a stop and reaches up to take out his earphones.

Victory says the first thing he can think of. “Will you get a drink with me?”

The other elf is still fiddling with his ear buds as he frowns a bit, one eyebrow raised. “What?” One word, and Victory wonders what that voice would sound like saying his name.

“I um,” Victory straightens, looks him over for the first time. The slender elf is wearing a pair of tight jeans, and a designer shirt and jacket that look like they cost more than Victory’s bike. Which is…saying a lot. “I thought we could go and get a drink together.”

The beautiful man seems to deliberate for a moment, looking Victory over with a scrutinizing gaze before he gives a small laugh, “Why not?” He pulls out his phone and sends a text before sticking it back in his jacket. His jeans are too tight for him to place the phone there. Victory can tell. Victory can see the outline of all of his muscles under those jeans, flexing as he shifts on his feet.

It takes a few moments for Victory to realize that he’s agreed. To go with him. To drink. Right. He’s grinning, he can tell, because the beautiful elf shoots him a bemused glance and shakes his head.

The bar he takes him to is one of Victory’s regulars, and it’s nearby. It’s cheap and the owner knows him. They give him free drinks some nights for breaking up bar fights. His presence is usually enough to keep people from getting too rowdy. And it’s close to his apartment too.

The slender elf looks around with a skeptical air, and Victory worries he’s done something wrong. “I haven’t been to this bar before,” The beautiful elf glances around the place with a shrewd glance, “huh.”

“Is that surprising?” Good, he hasn’t done something wrong then.

“I’ve been bar-hopping around town for years,” The elf shrugs, “There aren’t many places I don’t know.”

Victory’s only been in town for a few months. His unit moves around quite often, but they’ve been stationed here to teach some new recruits before their next deployment. It’s a nice town.

“I’m an art student,” The slender elf drawls, motioning to his bag, as if in explanation, “I was out getting some new tools.”

An artist. Of course he is. His fingers are thin, and slender, and perfect. He looks like a painting himself, Victory thinks. Too perfect to be real.

“I haven’t seen you around campus,” The artist props his chin on his palm and stares, “Are you a student?” He looks at Victory like’s he’s taking him apart, piece by piece, to see how he works. Dissecting him and putting him back together after he’s examined all his parts. It’s both flattering and disconcerting.

“No. I’m—”

“What’ll it be, Victory?” The owner asks as he glances between the two.

Victory looks toward the artist. The turquoise-eyed man leans forward, “Whiskey,” he says, “The most expensive kind you’ve got.” He eyes Victory in challenge, but Victory just nods, and the bartender goes to get what they ordered.

When they get their drinks he holds the shot glass up in a mock toast, “Bottom’s up.”

—

They manage to get back to his apartment somehow, and as the other man shoves Victory against the front door he realizes that he left the TV on this morning. The volume is off, pictures flickering in the darkness, bathing the room in an eerie glow as the storm outside continues.

Lightning flashes, and glints off the other’s man eyes.

Victory reaches up and brushes his thumbs under those turquoise eyes, and watches eyeliner and sweat and raindrops smudge beneath his fingertips.

The artist pauses, breath hitching, and Victory captures his lips.

They’re dry, and chapped, not soft like he’d expected. He tastes like whisky and sunlight and sweat, as Victory’s fingers dig into the skin of his hips, just under the band of his jeans. For being so much smaller, the other man is deceptively strong. He pushes Victory backwards, past the couch and the tv, barely missing the coffee table, before they make it to the bed in the corner.

At least he made the bed this morning, and the place looks relatively clean. Not that they could really tell in the dark, and more than a little drunk. And he doesn’t have much time to think about it, because they’re kissing, and he’s been shoved down onto the bed.

“You didn’t need to get me drunk to have sex,” The slender elf drawls against his neck, “I’d’ve let you do it sober too.” His breath is hot, and smells like whiskey, and his tongue is scalding as he licks a line across Victory’s jaw.

Victory swallows. This is not…this is not exactly what he had planned. He’d bought the man drinks because he thought it would be the best way to keep him close, to get him talking; to keep him from leaving.

He hadn’t intended to have sex with him their first night together. But this is another split second decision, and he chooses to let it happen. Even though…even though he has never done this before. Has never  _wanted_  to.

Victory chokes back a gasp as the other man begins fumbling with his jeans as he kneels between Victory’s knees. The air is shockingly cold against his skin. “I—”

He takes Victory into his mouth in one swift movement, and Victory let’s out a strangled curse. His mouth is hot, lips molten, and he’s rubbing circles into Victory’s hipbones with his thumbs as his tongue runs along the length of Victory’s cock.

Victory jerks, hips rolling, and the beautiful elf’s piercing brushes against his navel, cold metal biting against heated skin.

He unconsciously grabs his head, calloused fingers threading through what feels like silk. He tries not to press him forward, doesn’t want this to be rough. He glances down just as the other man looks up, charcoal black surrounding turquoise and lips wrapped around him, sweet and sinful, and he comes so hard he sees stars.

He tries to pull away, embarrassed, but the man holds him in place as he swallows. Victory continues to pant and wonders how he’s gotten himself into this situation; drunk and sitting with a beautiful stranger between his legs.

His artist pulls back and licks the corner of his mouth and smirks, eyes heavy-lidded and lips slightly swollen. “Shall we?”

Victory doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing. He knows in theory; he knows how it works—but what does his artist want him to do? Does he want to take or be taken? The man in question crawls into his lap and kisses him again, and now Victory can taste himself on his lips as he grips his waist and rolls up as the artist grinds down.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Victory groans.

“That’s sweet,” His artist murmurs against his neck, “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let you even if you wanted to.” He nips at Victory’s chin before leaning back and pulling his shirt off over his head and throwing it to the ground. He begins fumbling with his belt and lets out a strangled laugh, “Damn.”

“Let me,” Victory swallows. He pulls them back, runs his fingers along the red indents in his skin where they’d bit into his hips, and his mouth goes dry. His artist isn’t wearing any underwear.

He leans down and presses a kiss to the other man’s shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be taking my pants off,” The other man grumbles, wriggling in his lap, but doesn’t try and stop him as Victory continues running his lips across all the skin he can find. His hands continue undoing roving over the tops of his artist’s thighs, working his fingers under the fabric.

He scrapes his teeth along the hollow of the other man’s neck and he lets out an odd sound. Victory pulls back, “Are you alright?”

He gasps, half-laughing, breathless and beautiful. “I’m ticklish there, you idiot, just take my pants off already.”

Victory grins, and obliges, pressing his artist down against the mattress as he drags his pants down past his ankles.

There’s a gorgeous man lying naked on his bed, and Victory’s brain seems to short-circuit. He just stares, mouth dry, half-kneeling over him, until the gorgeous stranger reaches up and grabs his hair and tugs him down for a kiss.

Victory runs a hand down his spine and he arcs off the bed with a gasp as his fingers tangle in Victory’s hair.

He hooks his legs around Victory’s hips and grunts, reversing their positions. Victory goes willingly enough, head swimming from alcohol and pleasure and the smell of the man above him mixed with cigarette smoke and expensive cologne.

He’s never wanted something so much in his life like he wants this man, the glow of the TV in the background wreathing him in blue. He wants him  _so badly_.

“Pants,” The other elf gasps out, dragging Victory’s jeans down further, “Damn pants…” He pushes them down past Victory’s thighs and then climbs atop him again.

“I haven’t…” Victory swallows, “I haven’t done this before…”

His artist laughs breathlessly, “How on earth did you manage that?” His nails scrape along Victory’s abdomen, muscle rippling and he tries his hardest not to thrust upwards. “Leave it to me,” He sends him a cocky grin, and braces himself above Victory’s hips.

“Fuck,” He gasps out, lowering himself down further.

Victory pants, head thrown back as he tries to catch his breath and not thrust upwards. He needs to keep his eyes on his face. Needs to watch, so he doesn’t miss anything. Needs to let his artist feel comfortable, let him do what he wants because Victory doesn’t care, so long as this man above him doesn’t stop looking at him.

He’s tight around him, hot and slick and Victory bucks up just as his artist come down fully, and the sound he makes has Victory’s pulse racing and something aches in his chest.

He can’t look away from the other man’s face. Cheeks flushed and lips parted as he pants with their thrusts. He’s afraid if he closes his eyes, this will all become a dream. His artist will be gone and he’ll be alone in his apartment listening to the crackling of his outdated TV and the sound of rain pelting the windows.

Victory reaches up and grabs his hips, tries not to grasp too tightly, but thoughts fly through his head like candles put out by a windstorm, gone before they can full light.  _Don’t hurt him. He’s so beautiful. You’re too strong, don’t hurt him. Don’t grab so hard. He’s so beautiful. So beautiful. Look at those eyes. Gentle. Be_ gentle _._

Pleasure builds in the pit of his stomach, bright, white heat lancing through his veins to his fingertips with each frantic heartbeat. He feels like he’s going to combust.

His artist breathes out his name, voice raw and low, and Victory comes at the sound. He’s never heard his voice said that way, like the tail-end of a plea, and he reaches up, lunges forward to capture the sound with his lips as his artist comes in the space between them, hot and hard.

They’re both panting, and the tight coil of building pleasure has given way to boneless warmth as he falls back and brings the other man with him. He follows without much fuss, but grumbles something about cleaning up.

Victory holds him close and presses a kiss to his forehead. The other man wrinkles his nose in distaste and tries to push him off. “Idiot,” He mutters sleepily as he burrows closer, lips brushing against his collarbone.

“My name’s Victory…” He responds.

“I know,” The other man digs his nails into Victory’s shoulder, not deep enough to hurt. “The bartender said it before.  _Idiot_.”

He thinks he wouldn’t mind it, if this man kept calling him that.

—

He wakes in the morning to the sound of the shower running, and an ache behind his eyes that has him rolling back over and back to sleep.

When he finally manages to keep his eyes open, the TV has been turned off. He can smell coffee, and something cooking, but he can’t quite identify what it is. He rolls over and frowns at the itch of dried semen across his stomach. He’d going to need to take a shower…

Someone is shuffling near the bed. Victory blearily opens his eyes. Who..? And then they widen at the sight of brown locks attached to a bent head as his artist shimmies into his skinny jeans and buckles his belt.

Victory sits up, propped up on his elbows, just as his artist pulls on his shirt and glances at the bed. “Oh, you’re awake.” His voice is husky from sleep, and his hair is wet. “I made coffee and some breakfast. Hope you don’t mind.” He ties his jacket around his waist as he talks.

Victory feels some odd, inexplicable warmth spread through his chest at the sight. “I don’t mind at all.”

“Good. Well then,” He heads for the front door, shoulder his bag.

Victory sits up fully, hurrying to his feet as the artist reaches for the knob. “Hey, wait,” Victory reaches forward, “Where are you going?”

“I have a late morning class,” The other man drawls, “Attendance is mandatory.”

Victory swallows. “Can I see you again?”

The slender elf seems to contemplate, before shrugging with an amused smile, “Who knows?”

“Hey! Wait! What’s your name?”

The slender elf doesn’t turn around, but he lifts up his hand in a farewell wave, “It’s Aelynthi,” before he sticks in his headphones and disappears out the door.

Victory’s never been in love before, but he wonders if this is how it feels.

He’s never had to win someone over. People like him, plain and simple. But this isn’t a matter of winning over a friend. Aelynthi, he thinks, is going to be a hard victory.

But it’s one he’s going to fight for.

 

~

 

Aelynthi has never had relationship problems. 

There’s something entirely foreign to him about couples breaking up, or cheating, or all the messy things that come with it.

Before Victory, Aelynthi didn’t do serious relationships. And really, he hadn’t planned on it with Victory either, except the big oaf wouldn’t stop pestering him and bringing him flowers.

Aelynthi knows how terrifying it is, the fear of loss. He remembers waiting up at night with his father, staring at the phone and waiting for it to ring and hear his mother’s voice and know that she was alive. He remembers hearing gunfire in the distance, and shouting in foreign tongues, and thinking “one day, mamae is not going to come back”.

And he remembers making a promise to never get so attached to anyone like that. He’s seen how it affected his parents, and even now he wonders if his mother is going to come home every time she leaves the house in uniform.

Melarue left because they were tired of all that waiting for someone else. Sometimes, Aelynthi wants to leave too. He takes after them more than he likes to admit. Melarue…whose face is plastered on billboards and tv screens, who he sees even when he doesn’t want to.

His nanae left all this messy relationship business behind and became successful. It just seems practical to do the same. There’s no reason to wait around for someone who keeps leaving, who goes into dangerous situations over and over, knowing there’s someone waiting by that phone, hoping for and dreading that call. To become successful, he needs to do the same.

That’s what he’s told himself, over and over. It’s what he repeats in his head when he’s lying in bed with Victory’s arm slung around his hips and his lips pressed against Aelynthi’s collarbone.

Nothing good ever comes out of waiting for that call.

But when they return to the house, and he’s handed Adannar a bowl of ice cream and Thenvunin and Uthvir slip away he silently thinks,  _this is why relationships are ridiculous_. Then his phone lights up and Victory’s name flashes on the scream and his heart lurches and aches and his throat tightens and he…

…he’s going to regret it, in the end. One day the calls are going to stop coming and he’s going to get a set of dog tags in the mail instead. Victory doesn’t have any family. He’s told Aelynthi before, that he’s written him in as his next of kin.

_I never told you I wanted this_ , he’d argued angrily.  _Don’t you dare shove that on to me. I know what it’s like to get a phone call a day late, and dread checking the mail. Don’t you dare do that to me._

And yet he sees that name flashing and he has to remind himself to breathe, and to answer the phone, and as he places it to his ear the first words out of his mouth are, “You big idiot, you were supposed to call this morning.”  _I love you. I miss you. What on earth is wrong with me? I am supposed to be the one who doesn’t have these kinds of problems._

He curls up on his bed and breathes in the fading scent of Victory’s shampoo and listens to his voice, apologizes pouring out like a burst dam, and he blinks back tears. He misses the taste of Victory’s lips. He misses lying on Victory’s chest and feeling his laughter work its way up from his stomach and into the air, loud and warm and honest.

“It’s a good thing you left when you did,” he finds himself saying, trying to sound distant, like he isn’t about to cry. “The amount of drama happening around here would drive you mad. No one knows how to talk to each other.”  _I love you. I miss you. Please come back_. “It’s one big miscommunication after the next.”

“What do you mean? Vena said Dirthamen was trying to decide how to talk to Selene. Did something go wrong? And Adannar was going to tell Serahlin how he felt, wasn’t he? What happened?”

“Was it  _you_  that told Adannar it was a good idea to give her a present?” He still doesn’t know what happened with Selene. They aren’t terribly close, more friends of friends than anything else, but he isn’t surprised that Victory somehow knows. Victory has a habit of somehow charming and befriending people he’s met only once. Aelynthi wouldn’t be surprised if they’d bumped into each other at a party once and are now sending each other encouraging texts.

“ _You_  love presents,” Victory defends, “Why? Did she not like it?”

“It was more a matter of timing,” He replies dryly, and a bit of the tightness in his chest eases. This is normal. This is fine. He can almost imagine Victory lying next to him. Except if he were here he’d be touching him, holding him close, mouth pressed against whatever skin he could find. “Darris used to give her gifts.”

“Shit.” Victory curses, and Aelynthi allows himself a sharp laugh, before he hears muffled voices on the other end, a barked order, and the rumble of aircraft and his heart ties itself back into a pile of knots. “Hey, hey, I have to go. We’re going on a recon mission soon. I need to suit up.”

_I love you. I miss you. Please come back._  “Don’t let me keep you. Duty calls, after all.”

“Vhenan,” Victory murmurs, and Aelynthi lets out a shaky sob. “I’ll call tomorrow. On Friday I’ll be back on base with my laptop. We can video chat then, alright? Hey, talk to me.”

“Ok,” Aelynthi bites out, “Ok, just go.”

“I love you,” Victory whispers, “I miss you. I’m coming back.”

Aelynthi lies in bed for hours afterwards, listening to the dial tone and wondering how on earth he got himself into this mess.

 

~

 

“You know, I finished the sketch hours ago. You can go home,” Aelynthi mutters, not looking up from his work. 

The clay has dried all the way up his elbows, and bits of it are starting to flake, but he ignores it as he focuses on the task at hand.

“I know,” Vena calls from the couch, “But who could leave you when you’ve got that sad, abandoned puppy look in your eyes?”

Nieven makes a disgusted noise from her side of the studio, and looks like she’s contemplating throwing her nearly finished bust at him. She seems to realize it isn’t worth losing that much work when he’ll just dodge it anyway.

“It’s quieter in here than back at the house,” He offers at last, and Aelynthi can feel him staring at him, waiting for him to say something.

He  _has_  nothing to say, and he doesn’t appreciate whatever this group…comforting thing is. He is not the one currently in need of a knock on the head and a lecture about relationship advice. He knows at least three “not-couples” that fall within that group, and Vena belongs to one of them.

Aelynthi doesn’t need comforting, or to talk about his emotions. He is perfectly in control—he lets out a slow breath and stares at the ball of wet clay oozing between his fingers from his clenched fist. Yes, well, he doesn’t need to talk about it, whatever it is.

Despite Vena saying he wants peace and quiet, he’s the kind of person who dislikes long periods of silence, and it doesn’t take more than a few moments before he’s at it again. “Come on, bro,” Vena sighs, “Ana’s acting off, you know? And she won’t tell me anything.”

“People tend not to tell someone something when they don’t want you knowing about it. That’s the whole point of secrets.”

Vena sighs again, “But like, it’s the emotional kind, I can tell. Something’s bothering her.”

“Then go and ask her!” Aelynthi snaps, “And stop pestering me about it. I have to finish this by the end of exams week, so I’m a bit busy.” He lets out an irritated huff a moment later. He’s been high strung ever since Victory’s deployment and he knows the others can tell. They’ve been giving him space when he needs it which he appreciates, so the least he can do is not bite their heads off. “Look, whatever she’s dealing with, she’s not going to want you digging into it now, not before exams. Everyone is busy as it is. She’s stressed just like everyone else, probably moreso, from what I’ve heard about her workload. So just let her know you’re available if she wants to talk and stop pressing the issue.”

They lapse into a thoughtful silence after that, filled with the occasional sound of Vena shuffling notecards, or Nieven pounding out some new clay. Clay is…well, it’s not Aelynthi’s preferred medium, but he’s decent at it. He needs several pieces for his exhibit, and there’s no way he could do more than one stone sculpture in that period of time, so clay it is. He’s got a plaster piece planned down the road as well, just to show off more of his carving and shaping technique.

“I was thinking when everyone’s finished with exams we could all go hang out. I mean, I know we’ll all be going to that Wintersend thing, but I thought we could do something with just all of  _us_. Not everyone really knows each other, you know? And now that Selene and Dirthamen are ‘friends’ or whatever and Adannar and Serahlin are doing that weird “we hug a lot but we’re not  _together_ , together’ bit, I think It’d be good for us all. Maybe we could catch a movie. That new thriller is coming out soon, the one with Melarue? The Hollow Informant. It’s gonna be great. They’ve finally got a cast that can match their skills so they won’t be out-acting the whole cast again.”

“I thought you said you liked studying here because it’s  _quieter_ than the house.” Aelynthi warns.

“Ok, ok,” Vena waves him off with a raised eyebrow. “What’s with you and movies? Do you only like Indie films or something? You hate everything I make you watch.”

“Be quiet or go home, Venavismi,” Nieven snaps, “If he won’t kick you out,  _I_  will.”

Vena lets out a pained sigh, “You just don’t understand art.”

It’s Subtlety who finally grabs a spray bottle from the counter and attacks.

—

Movies nights are always a hit or miss where Aelynthi is concerned. Especially if Vena is the one picking out the movies. It’s hard to find a film that’s worth watching that doesn’t have his nanae in the cast. And If Vena’s picked the film, there’s a 95% chance that Melarue is in it.

And it’s oddly uncomfortable, watching your parent pretending to be another person on screen. Or involved in sex scenes.

It isn’t that Aelynthi is jealous of Melarue. He doesn’t have to worry about those kinds of issues, which is great, because their family situation is disjointed enough as it is. It’s more a matter of being bothered by the premise of it all, and the amount of attention that comes with being related to a celebrity.

First off, there’s the idea of the paparazzi showing up at all hours of the morning. Not something he’s super inclined to. And it would stress everyone at the house out, because they’d constantly be photographed because they’d be near  _him_ , who would be photographed for the sole purpose of being Melarue’s son, and Thenvunin would have a meltdown trying to look divine every time he stepped out of the house for fear he’d be on the news.

And second, Aelynthi is not planning on riding the coattails of Melarue’s success. He’s his own person, with his own agenda, and even if Vena calls Melarue an “artist”, Aelynthi begs to differ on a few fronts. Not that he can say that Melarue isn’t everything everyone thinks they are. He’s never seen Melarue look remotely un-fabulous, and he’s lived with them since infancy.

But the point is, Aelynthi is his own person, with his own style and media and vision, and he doesn’t want that being eclipsed by the tag line of “Melarue’s son”. He isn’t ashamed or jealous of Melarue, but being the only child of a world famous actor is bothersome. Melarue knows it, and doesn’t seem too put off that they never get to meet any of his friends, except for Thenvunin. Which is…really just because Mirena and Melarue are best friends. It was kind of inevitable.

Finals end with only a few headaches, and long phonecalls, and the occasional video chat with Victory. The odd constricting in his chest is easing a bit, and some days are easier than others to answer that phone call and not break down. Victory can’t tell him much about what he’s doing, but he always makes sure to tell him if he’s going out, and when he’ll come back.

Victory always seems to know just what to say. It’s aggravating as much as it is a comfort, because Aelynthi never knows what to say. It’s too hard to get the words out, when he knows what’s going to come of it.

_I don’t want you going out there. You’re throwing yourself into danger and you’re going to get yourself killed and I can’t stand it. Please stop._  But he won’t, because it’s his job and for some reason Victory thinks that what they are fighting for is  _worth_  it, just like his mother does. He doesn’t understand it at all.

But screaming it out that night on Ana’s rooftop helped. Even if Victory wasn’t there to hear it, it helped. Saying it out loud seemed to make it real, and when it’s real, it’s something he can deal with. Yes, screaming on rooftops after an unhealthy amount of martinis and brandy had helped.

The hangover he’d woken up to hadn’t though.

He’s lounging on the couch in the living room watching an episode of Orlais’ Next Top Model and trying to decide if he feels up to walking to the library to get that Mass Effect book Ana was talking about when his phone rings. Flower is lying on his stomach, napping. Adannar is out at the gym with Thenvunin and Vena, and he’d offered to look after her while they were out.

Sometimes you just need to cuddle something. And Flower always seems to know who needs cuddling the most. He glances at the name on the screen and sighs as he places it to his cheek and idly scratches Flower’s ears. She yawns and rolls over onto her back, nearly falling off his chest. “Hello nanae.”

Melarue’s voice is low on the other end, slightly muffled. They’re probably on set somewhere and are trying to shield the phone from all the noise. “Hello dear, just calling to tell you that I’ll be in Tevinter for the next four months. We’re filming for another movie. I sent your Wintersend gifts to your father’s house. Don’t forget to drop by and visit. Nithroel is alone at the moment, with Faunalyn on tour again. He shouldn’t be alone for Wintersend, da’vhenan.”

Aelynthi sighs, “I know. I’ll make it back. Don’t worry.” He’ll have time to attend the Wintersend ball before taking a train the next morning.

“Mmmm,” Melarue hums. There’s another pause, “I heard that Victory has been deployed?”

“Do you and Thenvunin have weekly meet-ups to discuss my struggling love-life?”

“Of course not, that’s utterly absurd.  _Mirena_  and I have weekly meet-ups to discuss the struggling love lives of  _both_  our children. Mirena gets the information from Thenvunin and passes it on to me. You haven’t provided me with much more on this ‘Uthvir’ for Mirena to look into.”

“Uthvir is fine. They’re good for Thenvunin. Finally someone that doesn’t just ask him to lie there and think of Elvhenan and doesn’t take what they want and tell him that he  _owes_  them for their attention.”

Melarue makes a derisive sound and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “like mother like son”. Aelynthi doesn’t remember much about Thenvunin’s dad, but he remembers when Mirena left him, and brought Thenvunin over to Melarue’s condo where they lived for two weeks while Mirena sorted out house ownership things. And he remembers Melarue on the phone asking Thenvunin’s dad to meet, and then coming home six hours later looking utterly pleased with themselves in that way that means they’ve destroyed someone’s life.

“They’re official now,” Aelynthi continues, “And it’s fine. Uthvir even has  _wings_ , nanae. Thenvunin is completely ruined for anyone else by this point.”

“Are you certain Uthvir’s a person and not simply some stray bird Thenvunin’s nursed back to health?” Melarue muses with a low chuckle.

“A little bit of both, I think,” Aelynthi replies dryly. Though which of them is nursing the other back to health, Aelynthi isn’t so sure. He has to admit, there had been a brief moment when he’d wondered if Screecher had somehow taken over the body of a human, but Uthvir doesn’t preen Thenvunin enough for that theory to last long.

“Well, I am glad to hear that Thenvunin is in good hands, but we’ve gotten a bit off topic. How are you doing? Have you spoken with Nithroel about it? He might be able to help you more than I can.”

“What? You aren’t going to tell me it’s a waste of time to wait around for someone who seems intent on getting themselves killed?”

There’s a long pause. “Do you think I want you to end up like me?”

“What? Successful? Isn’t that what all parents want for their children?”

Melarue sighs, “I’m fine alone. It’s how I’ve always been, even when the three of us were together. It’s simply my way. I’ve never needed anything more. That doesn’t mean it makes me happy. And I  _want_ you to be happy, son. You deserve it. Talk with Nithroel about all this. He’ll be a comfort.”

“I don’t want to end up like him.” Aelynthi whispers.

“Oh da’vhenan,” Melarue murmurs softly on the other end, “You don’t want to end up like me either.”

—

“Kaiden is walking on thin ice if he thinks he can be huffy about Shepherd being with Garrus when he practically called her a traitor. Did he think that she was suddenly going to forgive and forget that?”

Ana nods, taking a sip of her peach milk tea, “He probably thought that as a soldier, Shepherd would understand his point of view.”

Aelynthi huffs, placing his iced Americano on the table. “Relationships and work are two completely different things. She let him back on her ship after all that shit he pulled because she can understand his actions from one soldier to another. But as a  _person_ , I’m sure that it hurt when he suddenly didn’t trust her and started throwing accusations at her. So there’s no way she’d be able to have a relationship with him after that, not a romantic one anyway.”

Ana hums, “That’s true.  _I_ just don’t understand why she couldn’t have been with Garrus in book one.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Aelynthi agrees, leaning forward. “It makes the most logical sense. Garrus is the closest to her in mindset, and he’s with her every step of the way. That’s loyalty. Their relationship made  _sense_.”

Ana clutches her copy of the aforementioned book to her chest with a sigh. “It was a slow burn in book one, but I really think you can see hints of it. Like here, if you look in chapter 9? Look at these lines, and the way they describe his body language. This is definitely not a normal conversation between two friends.”

“Mmmm,” Aelynthi smiles, “Speaking of slow burns from friends to more, have you spoken with Vena at all?”

Ana makes a face that looks like she both wants to cry and laugh hysterically, which ends in an odd contortion before she busies herself with chewing on a few tapioca pearls.

“All I’m saying is that  _you’re_ good enough. Don’t think I don’t remember what you yelled on that rooftop,” Aelynthi makes a face, “Well, I don’t remember  _all_  of it, or anything that happened afterwards, but there were a few distinct phrases that come to mind.”

He remembers Thenvunin thinking he was somehow lesser because of Sethtaren. So convinced at the lack of his own self worth that he thought it was alright, whatever Sethtaren wanted him to do. He doesn’t have to worry about Ana being pushed into a relationship she doesn’t want—she doesn’t seem like the type for that—but her words that night make him wonder just what she thinks of herself. Having crippling low esteem while in a relationship led to Thenvunin’s mess, and having crippling low self esteem before a relationship can even begin has led to Ana’s. She doesn’t think she’s worth it, and therefore trying for an actual romantic relationship with Vena isn’t worth it.

Well.

“Honestly, I’m not quite sure what you see in him,” Aelynthi snorts, “I mean, he’s attractive, but so it everyone else in our group. And he’s obsessed with Melarue. He rates people’s butts based off of theirs, Ana. Their  _butts_. He has a butt-ranking system based on the ass of a celebrity he’s never met in person.” And Aelynthi really wants to keep it that way. He isn’t sure what Vena would do if he ever met Melarue in the flesh. Perhaps spontaneously combust.

“He has way more going for him than that,” Ana defends, “He’s smart, and he’s friendly, and everyone loves him, and he’s always looking out for people. Anyone would be lucky to be dating him.”

Aelynthi makes a disgusted noise, “You are so in love with him it’s making me nauseous.” He shakes his head, “Alright, alright, he’s a keeper. And there are worst options. Have you planned on actually pursuing anything?”

Ana sighs, “I just…”

“He’s not a bad guy, like you said. Well,” Aelynthi sighs, “I don’t like pushing things. If you want to, you will. I’ll just be here for moral support and in-depth analysis of sci-fi novels.” He holds out his iced americano.

Ana cracks a small smile and bumps her cup against his in a mock toast, “Good to know.”


	7. Flashback

When Varvin’s twin sister went and eloped with an elf from Clan Lavellan, Clan Ghilain was furious with her, and in turn, both clans denounced Varianna and Elohren relationship. They were not bonded in the eyes of the dalish keepers, but married by human customs.

Varvin knew his sister had eyes for the man, and her sudden disappearance came as no surprise. He knew before he had to read the note on his bedroll the night she left. He would miss her, however. She was an incredibly kind hearted woman, with such a thirst for the unknown. She wouldn’t have been happy living with the clan, crafting weapons, armor, and other utilities. A part of him was happy for her, though.

It wasn’t even a full year when he got his first letter from Varianna, announcing her pregnancy and how incredibly happy it makes her.

_“I’m going to be a mamae, Vin! Just imagine: you will be an uncle! Elohren is just as excited, and he hopes that the baby will be a girl.”_

The notion warmed his heart. Oh, he was happy. She was happy. That was all that mattered to him.

Ten months later, her letter was accompanied with a photograph. A tiny baby girl with red hair rests in his sister’s arms. She is beautiful; they are beautiful.

“ _Her name is Elanna._   _Can you believe it, Varvin? She is mine, mine and Elohren’s. Our daughter, and your niece. I hope you can one day hold her, too.”_

Oh, he wants to.

He starts sending her gifts. Tiny dolls, idols, playthings he can make with whatever resources the clan can spare him.

~

As the years go by, more letters are exchanged, more pictures accumulate. When Elanna turns two, there is a photograph of herself with her parents.

_“The next family picture should include you, brother.”_

There is also photograph of his niece’s face, clear so he can see. She looks just like her mother. Red hair and freckles, green eyes like her father’s.

_“Elanna is such a curious child. She is just like her father, Vin. You wouldn’t believe. She takes after him in the way their smiles can light up any dark cavern.”_

~

Letters like this continue for years, until one day the keeper is informed that Varianna and Elohren were victims of a hate crime against the elves in the alienage they lived in. There was no mention of their child, however. His niece, little Elanna.  _What happened to her?_

The next few weeks were  _agony_ for Varvin. He managed to convince clan Ghilain’s keeper to let him make his way to the little alienage, looking for anyone who knew what happened to the child. He was no longer an apprentice, but the clans Harhen. He could care for her, love her, and raise her the way her parents intended it.

He is able to meet with the harhen of the alienage, who was caring for the child temporarily until more permanent accommodations were made for her. Varvin thanks the harhen and is able to take Elanna with him. She is in a tan tunic, too big for her with a piece of ironbark shaped like halla horns on a leather chord around her neck. Varianna’s necklace, he realizes.

She looks up at him with those unfamiliar eyes, a little expectant. Varvin kneels in front of the girl so that they are eye level.

“Hello, Elanna. I am Varvin. Your… uncle. I am taking you with me, now. To Clan Ghilain.” The child blinks at him. Her brows knit together, and he can see the gears turning in her brain. She is… seven. If he recalls correctly, her birthday had passed two months ago.

“Mamae talked about you a lot. Mamae and Papae went out and… they got hurt and aren’t coming back. Is it true? I won’t see Mamae and Papae again?” Varvin’s heart feels tight behind his ribs, and there is a large lump in his throat that he cannot seem to swallow.

“I am very sorry, da’len. Do not worry, I am here for you. I will take care of you and you will not be alone.” The child nods, and takes his hand then.

“Okay. I am here for you too, uncle,” she says. The dam bursts, then. He feels like a pathetic mess in front of this child as she wraps her arms around his neck and begins petting his hair, whispering “there, there” into his ear.

He’s always wanted to hold her. From the day his sister announced her pregnancy, he has always wanted to meet this child. To hold her in his arms and hear her voice. Not like this, Varianna. Not like this.

 

~

 

When Vena was seventeen, one of the members of his lacrosse team dared him to ask out the ‘weird girl from home ec’.

It was a bizarre moment, because it had taken Vena a solid ten minutes of conversation to figure out who the ‘weird girl’ actually  _was_  (apparently it was the… tiny cutie with the freckles? Somehow?) and then another fifteen minutes to try and figure out what the point of the dare even  _was._

He’s still not sure he gets it, in fact. He thinks it’s supposed to be humiliating for someone. Maybe himself, since it puts him in the position to be rejected by someone supposedly ‘socially inferior’, but the way the other boys are talking, it seems like it’s more to create an opportunity to laugh at the girl.

“Because, she’ll fall for it,” one of his teammates assures him. “She’ll think you’re really asking her out. It’s like a prank.”

Vena doesn’t think his new classmates understand how pranks work. But once the subject comes up, they keep pestering him about it, and finally he gives up and goes over to the freckle girl while she’s at her locker.

She’s not bad, Vena thinks. Maybe it’s the braces, but…. she’s pretty cute? And very short. When he stands next to her she’s at eye level with his chest. There are grass stains on her knees, and she’s clutching a notebook that’s got different kinds of leaves pressed into the front. The inside of her locker is covered in maps and photographs - or it is so far as Vena can see, before she hastily closes it away from him.

He offers her his best, most charming smile.

“Hi,” he says.

“Um. Hi,” the girl replies. He wracks his memory for her name. One of the ‘El’ girls. Ela? Elora? Elisa? El… Elanna?

“Your name’s Elanna, right?” he checks, reaching up to straighten his ponytail out. “We have home ec together.”

She nods, her face almost entirely hidden by a curtain of hair. Her mouth wobbles, and then her lips curl downwards and, to Vena’s horror, her eyes get suspiciously shiny.

“Can we not do this?” she asks, very quietly. “Can you just go back and tell them I fell for it, that you asked me out and I said yes? You can just laugh really loud, and we can skip ahead to the part where everyone makes fun of me and I just run home.”

Vena feels like the absolute scum of the earth.

It’s… not a good feeling, it turns out. He’s filled with a deep dread that this girl is going to break out crying, because he’s being mean. And he  _is_  being mean, he thinks. Why do the others even want him to do this? Why did he cave? He glances back towards their expectant looks, and then turns to Elanna.

“Well I  _could,”_  he agrees, quietly. “Or… I could ask you out, and maybe you could just loudly turn me down? Tell me you’d never even consider going out with someone like me? Just act all offended. Really get into it.”

Elanna blinks at him, and Vena manages another smile.

“Tear me to shreds. Say my thighs are too thick and my eyebrows are wonky,” he suggests, waggling the eyebrows in question.

She snickers, and then moves a hand over her mouth. Covering her braces.

“Um…”

“Go for it,” he encourages. 

Her nose scrunches up, and for a minute he thinks she’s just going to run off. But then she sucks in a breath, and it’s all fire in her eyes as she lifts her chin, and shakes her head.

“Sorry, Venavismi,” she says, loud and clear. “I’m flattered. But you’re just not my type.”

Vena clamps a hand over his chest.

“What?! Not your  _type?_  But… have you  _seen_  me?” he asks, and lifts an arm to flex his bicep demonstratively. Elanna snickers as her kisses it, but fortunately, doesn’t break the act completely. She gives him a sad, sympathetic look that could only have been honed by years of receiving such things.

“Looks aren’t everything,” she tells him. Her voice lisps, just a little, towards the end. But then she flips her hair, and turns on her heel, and stalks back down the corridor. Leaf-covered notebook still clutched in her hands.

Vena’s heart skips, just the teeniest, tiniest bit.

 

~

 

It becomes a Thing between them, after that. Mostly because Vena can’t resist a good opportunity to be overwrought and melodramatic, and also because it makes him feel like marginally less of an asshole. Every so often he’ll direct heartbroken sighs towards the back of Elanna’s chair while they’re in home ec. If he passes her locker while she’s there, sometimes he’ll ‘try his luck again’, citing his brilliant grades and his volunteer charity work as Elanna rolls her eyes and tells him to take a hike.

It gets to the point where even the most steadfast doubters have stopped thinking that Vena’s faking it. But there’s an unexpected side-benefit for him, too, that he never anticipated.

Because after a while, people stop expecting him to seriously pursue anyone who isn’t  _Elanna._

‘Don’t bother asking Vena out,’ he hears the swim team co-captain advise in the locker room, one morning, when he doesn’t seem to realize that Vena can hear him. ‘He’s too hung up on that ginger girl. He turns everyone else down.’

‘Yeah, but she’s not giving him the time of day’, one of the other boys argues.

And Vena  _does_ get asked out by him, afterwards, and have to turn him down. Pretty much because he just doesn’t have the time. If his grades slip even one iota his parents will be all over him about it, and he won’t get into law school like they plan, and they’ll probably take away his car privileges. He’s only just gotten them to let him drop cello lessons, and they aren’t happy about it.

The gears in his brain start turning.

The next morning, he manages to catch Elanna on her way to school. She  _walks_ to school, which wouldn’t be all the impressive except that she apparently lives far enough out that she probably has to get up at five o’clock in the morning just to pull it off. He figures out her route based on some overheard conversations, and takes a chance and manages to meet up with her before she reaches the school, cruising alongside her and earning an alarmed look before she recognizes him.

“Venavismi?” she asks, uncertainly.

“Could you call me Vena?” he asks. “People usually only use my full name when I’m in trouble.” 

Elanna glances behind herself, uncertainly, as if she half expects to see someone else standing behind her, waiting to talk to him.

“I guess,” she allows, tightening her hold on her backpack. “People call me Ana. Well. My friends do. Did. Back in elementary school.”

“Elanna, Ana, bo-bana, fee fi fo-fana, mee my mo mana. Ana,” Vena hums, cheerfully, and she laughs in surprise at the silly naming song. He waggles his eyebrows, and motions towards the passenger side door. “Would you be willing to ride with me? Or should I get out and walk with you?”

Elanna hesitates, a little. 

But after a few minutes she deems him acceptable, it seems, and gets into the car. She slides her backpack from her shoulders and holds it in her lap, as Vena slowly drives towards the school.

“Is this the part where you tell me I need to stop turning you down so your social reputation can recover?” she asks. “Because you suggested the whole thing. And I never told you to keep it up, and if I was supposed to cave at some point you never said…”

“No, no, no!” Vena assures her. Then he stops, and reconsiders. “Um. Well. Kind of, but it’s not like that.”

Elanna’s eyebrows twist, sceptically.

He drums his fingers on his steering wheel.

“Okay. So. It’s like this,” he begins. “I have… no time. None. My parents have scheduled my life out for the next thirty years, and it is a  _packed_  schedule, and they kind of view ‘dating’ as a thing I can do maybe when I’m thirty and on the fast track to becoming a magister or something. Which is not, exactly, what I plan to do, but until I can actually afford to move out I’m kind of stuck with having zero free time. But everyone in school keeps asking me out, and I really hate turning people down. You know? I mean, when it isn’t a fun game, it’s actually kind of… soul-destroying?”

Elanna blinks at him.

Vena swallows, and looks back at the road.

“So. What I was thinking was, with all of this… um. This stuff, that’s been going on with the two of us… I don’t know if you’d be willing. But everyone thinks I’m madly in love with you, and I was wondering if you’d maybe consider pretending to be my girlfriend until we either graduate or you meet someone you’d prefer to date or something like that? And then you can dump me, and you can… I don’t know. Use dating an incredibly handsome and popular straight-A student to some kind of advantage?”

That makes her snort - he thinks it’s the blithe reference to his undeniable good-looks - and then she goes quiet for a few minutes.

“Are you going to pretend to ask me out again?” she wonders.

“I could,” Vena says. “If you want. I could serenade you, even. Or we could just make up a story about how I met up with you at the mall by accident and it was raining and I looked all pathetic and soaked and you loaned me your umbrella, and we got to talking and finally I asked you out and you said ‘yes’, and then we went and saw a movie together and I paid for dinner and was a perfect gentleman. Or something.”

“Oh, I like that! They’re playing the new Mass Effect movie at the theater, and I’ve seen it, we can say we saw that one!” Elanna exclaims, and then her face goes incredibly red.

Vena grins.

 

~

 

The ‘fake dating’ thing goes pretty well, overall.

Vena makes it a point to go and pick up Ana halfway through her morning walk to school, most days, and has time enough to drive her the rest of the way. She puts with his weird taste in music pretty well, and sometimes she gives him odd items of interest. A pine cone. A funny-shaped rock. A seashell.

He jokingly dubs them her ‘tokens of affection’, which makes her turn bright scarlet and hide her face in her hands, without fail, every time.

It’s cute.

Ana’s cute.

They eat lunch together, on days when Vena has time for lunch and doesn’t have to run off to a club room instead, and sometimes he can manage to drive her home when he doesn’t have to stay at the school for something else. Usually two days out of the week are like that. Her family lives on the Dalish Reserve near the border with Orlais. Vena’s not surprised to learn she’s Dalish, but when he brings up his own impending vallaslin ceremony, she nearly falls out of the car.

“You’re  _Dalish?”_  she squeaks. “What clan? How come I’ve never seen you at any of the Arlathvhens?”

Vena shrugs.

“My father comes from Clan Virnehn, but he hasn’t spoken to his family since he was in his teens. Mother’s a city elf, through and through. They don’t want me to get the blood writing done - it can be harder to get jobs with it - but one of my aunts sent me an e-mail a year ago. We’ve been talking on and off, and she says Clan Virnehn will do the ceremony for me if I really want it,” he explains.

Elanna frowns, thoughtfully.

“So it’s just like a rebellion thing for you?” she wonders.

“Maybe?” Vena allows. Something twists in him at the casual response, though, as she resumes climbing into the car. She shuts the door, and he lets out a breath.

“I went to a shrine a couple of times,” he says. “It was really nice. I think I’d go more often, if I could. Everything was so… peaceful. There’s the Way of Peace, you know? Sylaise’s teachings? I have some books on it. It’s… I like it. A lot. It sounds like it fits me. I mean, I don’t know if I would actually be a good Dalish, but I don’t think it’s all just made-up or superstition or anything. And anyway, my aunt says I’ve got to be sure before she’ll give the okay to the clan. And if my parents find out, then they’ll put a stop to it, too.”

Elanna glances at him for a moment, and then nods in understanding.

“I know how to make the dye for it,” she ventures, tentatively.

Vena double-takes.

“I thought only Firsts knew that!” he exclaims, and she grins.

“First and Seconds and the Keeper are all supposed to know it,” she corrects. “But I figured it out. The only thing is I can’t figure out how to get blue. All my blues come out purple, even when I manage to get all the colour out of the blood…”

They talk about vallaslin all the way to school that day.

It’s probably the longest actual conversation they manage to have, before prom comes around.

Vena does the full ‘will you go to prom with me’ routine, of course, with party poppers and a song blasting terrible, dated love songs, and actually feels a thrill when Elanna laughs and can’t help but smile so wide that she forgets to hide her braces. She gives him one of their ‘stage kisses’, then. A soft little peck that takes like cinnamon lip gloss, and Vena’s heart stutters a bit more.

He thinks… 

He thinks maybe the pretend dating isn’t quite so ‘pretend’ as he thought it would be. At least, not on his end.

Prom itself is a lot of dancing and drinking terrible punch, and beer someone smuggled in, until they’re both dead on their feet and go back to Vena’s car. A few more vehicles are all steamed up in the windows.

“Want to drive to make-out point?” Vena suggests, waggling his eyebrows.

Ana laughs at him. She looks like a speckled flower in her dress. She looks  _beautiful,_  with her hair all loose and flowing, and she’s still laughing when Vena leans over to taste her lip gloss again. Her breath hitches, and he cups her cheek. Clumsily venturing his tongue forward, and awkwardly licking her braces as her fingers curl in his shirt.

He pulls back to see her looking at him wide-eyed.

“Want to?” he asks.

“Is this like… a pity thing?” Ana asks him.

The last time Vena felt this nervous was when he had to bring a B- report card home.

“Nah,” he says. “I mean, it’s prom, right? You’re supposed to have raunchy car sex with your date. It’s… tradition.”

“Yeah, but we’re…” Ana says, and trails off. Her face is so red. “We’re not really dates, Vena. I mean we’re one another’s dates but we’re. Not. Really.”

Vena’s hand settles on top of her knee.

“We could just consider it practice. For the real thing, someday,” he suggests, and then he wants to kick himself. But the thought of going ‘yeah, except, I really like you’ somehow manages to tie his tongue into knots. What if she says no? What if life imitates performance art, and she sends him packing?

“Practice?” Ana squeaks.

“I mean. If you want to,” Vena offers, as his heart pounds a mile a minute against his ribs.

Somehow, against all odds and despite what he would later come to view as the  _worst_ pass he ever made, she says yes. And somehow they end up in Vena’s backseat, an awkward tangle of limbs that doesn’t really work out. Somehow by the end of it he just feels embarrassed, and Ana has trouble looking him in the eye; and by the time they graduate, they’re both eager to put the whole disaster behind them.

Somehow, in hindsight, he’s never really sure if that counts as his first time or not.

But, disaster and all, he still thinks he likes it better as a first time than that drunken night in college a few months later. With his roommate and the oven mitts.

So he goes with it counting.

 

~

 

They don’t meet again until years later. Vena’s standing in a pharmacy parking lot, getting soaked by the rain as he tries to remember where he parked his car before dashing in to restock his supply of advil. Fat droplets are falling onto his shoulders, until a shadow lifts over his head, and they stop.

He turns, surprised; and then stunned into silence.

A periwinkle blue umbrella is being held over his head by a small, ginger elven woman, covered in freckles. She looks up at him, a spark of mischief and something perilously indefinable in her eyes, as she stands on her tip-toes.

“Vena?” she asks. “Venavismi?”

 _Oh,_  Vena thinks.  _I missed you._

It’s such a strange immediate thought to have. But he does have it, as he stares at her. As his mouth curves into a delighted smile, and somehow one awkward disaster of a prom evening doesn’t stick in his mind quite so well as the memory of Elanna, in a rare moment of comfort, kicking her feet up onto the dashboard of his car and singing along with  _Yellow Flicker Beat._

“Ana-bo-bana!” he blurts.

Her cheeks colour, just a little.

“Well now I  _know_  it’s you,” she replies, as the rain goes pitter-patter over the top of her umbrella. “What are you doing standing around getting soaked?”

He beams, and offers her a wink.

“Waiting for my inevitable rescuer, of course,” he says. It makes her cheeks darken, even more; but it also makes her roll her eyes at him, and her lips twitch. And he wonders if she missed him, too.

He wonders if providence has given him another chance to do this properly.

His eyes dart up towards the umbrella overhead.

“You know, I think this is a sign that we should probably see a movie together,” he reasons. Wondering if she’ll catch the reference to the story they made up, back in highschool.

Elanna blinks, and then her mouth rounds into a tiny ‘o’ of surprise. She bounces, just slightly, on her toes.

“There’s another Mass Effect movie out!” she exclaims.

Vena’s heart skips, and soars.

 

~

 

Getting a scholarship to attend college was especially difficult for Elanna. She had to go convince her keeper from Clan Ghilain and her uncle had to call in old favors from Clan Lavellan. The whole process was a nightmare but here she is. Somehow. She eyes the blank walls of the dorm, and uncovered mattress on the beds. She has a roommate who isn’t here yet so she gets first pick and opts for the side of the room with the window. Her plants are going to need the sunlight, and there’s a pretty good view of the quad.

She eyes her mattress, which has a suspicious stain on it and scrunches her nose. She debates switching the mattresses, but decides not to. She took the window after all, and besides it’s only a stain. She can just cover it up or something. Maybe she can even figure out a new plant based formula to rid old suspicious stains from college dorm mattresses and make millions! Young 20 something year olds will cheer her name, and all colleges will be suspicious stain free.

“This is just the first year,” she thinks to herself. “Sophomore dorms are much better. There’s a kitchen.”

Elanna opens her backpack and starts with setting up her desk. She pulls out her laptop and a folder with some photographs in them and sets about going through them. There is one of her uncle at an Arlathvhen, dressed in his robes and looking like the perfect harhen, and another of him with her mother. There is an old photograph of her and her parents before that accident in the ailenage. There are some images of the hunters, and one of her keeper. There are some of Vena, too. Vena in his car, Vena at a swim meet, Vena playing lacrosse, one of him she snuck at a debate meet, one of them at prom, and one of them in their graduation robes. She cringes slightly at the memory of that post-prom debacle, where she kicked him in the head on accident.

Still, she misses him. She wonders if he misses her, too.

There’s a knock at the door that pulls Elanna away from her thoughts. She turns around and sees who she assumes is her roommate, a human who’s much taller than she is with headphones stuck in her rounded ears blasting some hip hop album Ana has never heard of.

“You’re Elanna?! Shit, didn’t think you’d be a halla rider,” the human says, a little too loudly.

Elanna raises an eyebrow at that, and prays to all the merciful Creators to help her endure this first year.

Ana just wants to study, and learn about plants, and stars, and geography. Maybe help develop algae that will eat away all the waste and pollution from the water. She doesn’t want to deal with her roommate stumbling in drunk every other night. She doesn’t want to deal with the stalker-ish ex boyfriends that come looking for her roommate every other week. And she  _definitely_ doesn’t want to deal with campus security banging on the door because her roommate is storing illegal substances under the mattress, and under the toilets tank cover.

“Well,” she thinks, “only 8 more months until sophomore year.”

 

~

 

When Tasallir was three years old, his nenae took him to the fire station in Ostwick. 

He remembers the feel of their arms around him, and the smell of their perfume. Olive skin and dyed red hair, much brighter in memory, perhaps, than it was in real life. Or, perhaps not. It matched their eyes, which seemed red all the way through to the whites, as they put Tasallir down. Red, and purple around the red.

“Go ring the bell, baby, okay?” Nenae had said.

He remembers that. Remembers chipped nail polish, and his bare feet on the pavement, and Nenae’s red, red eyes. It is his earliest, oldest memory; of going dutifully up to the fire station, and ringing the bell, and talking to the man who answered. And of turning around, and seeing empty sidewalk.

No more Nenae.

Tasallir does not recall anything else about that person. Or why they chose to leave him, or where he came from before then. He does not recall the first foster home he was ensconced in, either, except in blurry impressions of peeling linoleum floors, and plastic baby gates, and voices screaming. The next had not seemed all that dissimilar from the last. A flurry of faces – tired, sad, frustrated – and voices, schools and lessons, bedrooms and hand-me-downs.

He remembers most vividly being six, and having a toy. It is a toy with many parts, and it changes shapes when the parts move. And he thinks to himself that his roommate, who is five and always touches his things, is going to break it. So every night before bed, he takes his toy apart. He puts all of the pieces onto his shelf, counting them as he goes, and he only puts the toy back together when it is time to play. That way, it does not matter if any of the other children pick up the pieces, because there are not so many breakable parts.

He remembers waking up to find one of the pieces missing, and feeling sick. Counting them and coming up short, and going to some faceless adult who was meant to solve problems, and not finding a solution.  _Maybe you left it somewhere else._  No, Tasallir does not leave things. Especially not things that matter. He cannot focus, all through the day. He keeps saying,  _there should be nine._  There should be  _nine_  pieces. He has counted them, he knows, but there are only eight, and he cannot put his toy back together with eight pieces, that is not how it goes. And he wants to do other things, he wants to do his numbers and letters and eat his lunch but he  _can’t_  because  _there should be nine._

He remembers throwing up and seeing stars and his face stinging, and then there are no pieces. His shelf goes empty of everything. Every piece and every toy.

_It’s only a toy, Tasallir. If you’re going to get this worked up over it, then you won’t be allowed to have any toys at all._

So it goes. He remembers another house, and another room. Another shelf, and this one is filled with magazines instead of toys. Glossy images of fashion and finery, National Geographics with pictures of Dalish elves in brightly coloured fabrics, with patterns painted on their faces. It’s the patterns that fascinate him the most, because he knows them. Or at least some of them. He looks at elves with artwork on their faces, and it makes him think of bright red hair, and the eyes he sees in the mirror every morning. Of carefully painted lips, and eyelids, and cheeks with colourful lines on them.

But he’s not sure which pattern fits the memory.

When he is nine, a Dalish woman comes to his school. She has markings scrawled all across her face, on every inch it seems, and she is very, very tall. She talks a little bit about Dalish elves, after the teacher introduces her. She has red hair. Tasallir puts his hand up, and asks if red-haired Dalish all get the same face markings. If they do, that is one mystery solved. She grins at him, and says no; and then she starts to explain some about her gods, before the teacher stops her and makes her change the subject.

Tasallir has never heard of  _many_  gods before. He thought there was only one.

He asks one of their caretakers, and she tells him to put it from his mind. But now he feels like there are missing pieces; and the satisfaction that comes to him when he discovers that there are  _nine Creators_  after scouring the library is like the sun rising. Nine. There are  _nine._

There are nine pieces.

Tasallir goes through his magazines, and he cuts pictures from them of bright and beautiful people. He tapes points to their ears, and he puts them on his shelf. Nine of them. Mother, and Father, and Hunter, and Hearthkeeper, and Guide. Mystery, and Crafter, and Death, and Rebel. Tasallir tells one of the other elven children, excited to share his new information. And the child tells their caretakers.

The shelf goes empty again.

Tasallir is taken to the chantry, which smells like acrid incense, and has awful pink walls  that make him feel like he is being swallowed by a giant mouth. He recites the chant in front of the statue of Andraste, and the Sister tells him about the Maker, and the Maker’s forgiveness, and how He will accept everyone to his side. Even elves. But only if they sing only his word, and do not turn from his path. It is because there are those who do not sing the chant that bad things happen in this world.

_Even elves._

Tasallir feels sick, after that is all done with. Sick, and more than sick, he feels angry. He feels his skin crawling, on into the next day, as he wakes and stares up at the ugly, water-stained ceiling of this room. He hates that ceiling, he thinks. And he hates his roommate, who is messy and betrays trust. He hates his caretakers, and the locked fridge, and the inconsistent meal times, and his ugly, uncomfortable clothes. He hates his shoes, which hurt his feet. He hates cheese.

He  _hates_  cheese. And milk. It’s disgusting, it’s  _foul_ , no one should be eating it.

The next time he goes to the chantry, he sits there in silence, and counts to nine in his head.

It is not a rebellion. That’s what the adults say, and what the Sisters chide him for, and what his teachers roll their eyes at. But it is not; he is not defying them, or at least, his intention is not to be defiant. It is to put things right. How is it rebellious to point out that things are not what they should be? Children are supposed to get three square meals a day. Tasallir reads this, and the television corroborates his findings. Rooms should be clean. Belongings should be put in their place. Schedules should be followed. People should be where they belong, and Tasallir does not belong here.

When he is eleven, the chantry ejects him from its foster care program on the grounds of moral delinquency. The foster home he is staying at will no longer be afforded a stipend for the expenses of his upbringing; and so his foster parents, in turn, kick him out.

No one really seems to notice.

Tasallir still goes to school every morning. There is a lunch program. He goes to the Ostwick Food Bank, but they tell him to go to the chantry. He tries the alienage, but there is a man who watches him walk down the streets there, and Tasallir does not like him. Does not like how he looks, or the way he starts to follow him in his car, so he turns off a side alley and hides until the man is gone; and then he tries the library, instead.

No one looks twice at him in the library. Ostwick has three different ones. When he isn’t in school, Tasallir goes to them. Rotating around, reading books and magazines. Drawn to glossy covers, and the fashion magazines from Arlathan and Antiva are the best ones. The elves in them look beautiful. He pulls coins out of fountains, and keeps his homework in his knapsack. His favourite library is the one in Ostwick’s Inner Ring, because it has a play area for little kids. Tasallir does not actually much care about the ball pit or the ring of cartoon characters on chairs, or the big, blocky books, but the librarian there is very old and near-sighted and does not check the place thoroughly before locking it off from the rest of the library at nine o’clock sharp.

Tasallir hides there, and for six months he sleeps in the library. All he has to do is wait until after it opens in the morning, and pretend he got there early; and finish off his homework, or just pretend to if it’s already done, before heading to school.

Weekends are the hardest, because then he doesn’t get lunch. And sometimes he gets in trouble for pulling coins from the city’s fountains. But usually he can at least scrape enough together to buy things out of vending machines, or from dollar stores. He doesn’t steal, not really. He’s not a thief. The coins in the fountains are already thrown away. A woman tells him, once, that the coins are for the city, not for ‘sticky-fingered little knife-ears’, but Tasallir does not think the city gets hungry at night.

Metaphorically, of course, he is wrong.

His stint as a street urchin fails one evening when a father leaves his children to play in the play area at the library until nine o’clock. Then the librarian comes and actually gets everyone out, even Tasallir, and he is out on the street; and a police officer finds him while he sits at a bus stop, and tries to pretend he is waiting for the bus. She takes him with her, and he is terrified.

_I’m not a criminal, I didn’t do anything wrong._

He thinks of the handful of fountain coins in his knapsack, and wonders if they will condemn him. The night he spends in jail is much more terrifying than the nights he spent in the library. He throws up, and he becomes convinced that it must be illegal to throw up in a police station, and one of the officers yanks on his arm so hard he gets bruises. They take his knapsack away, and he hears the coins clink, and goes white. They call him  _runaway,_  and they tell him this will go on his  _permanent record,_  and much of the night becomes, in his memory, a blur of terror and nausea that is only eased when a dwarven woman he does not know sits in front of him, and asks what his name is.

He tells her.

She asks how old he is.

He tells her.

She does not ask where he lives, which is what everyone else kept asking, and what Tasallir could not answer because he knows he is homeless now. He just wants to go. He can go to school, and then he can go back to the libraries. He does not know how he will manage without his knapsack, though. Maybe they can give it back to him? He needs to keep his homework in it.

The lady asks him which school he goes to, and he tells her.

She says,  _thank you very much, Tasallir._  And Tasallir says  _you are welcome, ma’am,_ because he has manners.

The woman takes him out of jail, which is a relief. She says he’s not in trouble, that the police officers were mistaken, and she explains to him that he’s going to be going into the Elgar’nan Foundation’s systems since the chantry has decided he’s not a good fit for their program. Tasallir leaves Ostwick, and its sketchy memories and missing pieces, and is taken to Starkhaven, which is  _huge._  A sprawling city, flooded with people. He has a new school, and he lives at that school, which seems very convenient to him. He has his own room as well, which is small and very clean, and a uniform, and he gets three meals a day. Every year on Feast Day, Elgar’nan Evanuris comes. He is a very striking man, with hair and skin like Tasallir’s. He gives out books and toys and hugs, and Tasallir always very reverently accepts his hug. It makes his skin tingle, to have so much contact; and he gets one every year, without fail, until he is too old.

He studies hard, and keeps his room meticulously organized. There is a girl his age. Small and chestnut-haired, who tries to kiss him. Who keeps touching him without his permission, until he finally tells her he finds the whole thing disgusting. Then she cries.  _Heartless._ He does not know how to apologize; how to explain that he did not mean  _she_  was disgusting. When he tries, it just makes things worse, so he gives up.

He gets a job through the work program, when he is fifteen, and saves every penny he makes from the beauty parlour. He graduates with scholarships to a university in Ferelden.

He waits until all of that is secured before he goes to get his vallaslin done.

It is not a traditional ceremony. He had petitioned a few clans, but all of them had turned him down, citing his involvement with the Elgar’nan Foundation. So he finds a tattooer who offers authentic vallaslin, and verifies their technique as best he can against the information he has gathered on the practice. He is more uncertain, in the end, about the design he has selected than the course of action itself. It is not, he thinks, the most aesthetically pleasing of all the options; and having his eyelids tattooed in a daunting prospect. But it… fits.

He thinks.

He needs to fit himself into place.

 

~

 

“Venavismi. You are drunk,” Tasallir observes, sniffing in distaste. 

Venavismi is lying in the main room, in plain sight, in personal disarray. He is shirtless, and yet is wearing a tie. His shorts are not adequately concealing his lack of undergarments, and he is wearing a single open-toed shoe.

With Velcro on it.

Tasallir shudders.

“Hey, Taz!” Vena says. “I am  _really_  glad you did not go to that party. Because you would have hated it. But I’m also sad, because it would have been hilarious. You would have had to broom, like, nine different couples, but you also probably would have won three of the contests. I mean. If they weren’t rigged.” He looks at Tasallir very seriously, then. “Your ass is a Melarue,” he says.

Tasallir is distressed, because he actually knows what that means.

“You are being disgraceful,” he asserts. “Please tell me you did not bring anyone back with you?”

“Nahhh,” Vena says. Then he pauses, and frowns. “Oh. Uh. Probably should have brought Thenvunin back with me, actually. Whoops.”

Tasallir frowns.

“You left Thenvunin alone to get accosted at a party?”

“…Maybe?” Venavismi allows.

Tasallir sighs in aggravation. Wonderful. Now he’s probably going to have to drive out there and make sure that no one is sexually assaulting one of his fraternity brothers while he is under the influence of alcohol. This is what the buddy system is supposed to  _prevent._  He gives Venavismi a disappointed look, and pulls out his phone to text Thenvunin, first.

Vena has the grace to look a little shame-faced, at least.

But to Tasallir’s relief, Thenvunin texts back in short order – he is walking back from the party, in a well-lit area, with some elves from one of the consanguinities.

Vena lets out a breath as Tasallir confirms their fraternity brother’s continued safety and well-being.

“You’re an irresponsible cad,” Tasallir informs him, nevertheless.

Venavismi waggles his eyebrows.

“I’m a scoundrel. And you  _like_  scoundrels,” he asserts.

“I do not!” Tasallir replies, affronted at the entire implication. He strides over and lifts up one of the couch cushions, and upends Venavismi onto the floor. Much to his protestations.

“Not cool, bro!”

“I am sick and tired of having to steam clean everything so regularly,” he snaps. “This is a public area. You can lounge in sweaty, dirty repose as much as you like in the privacy of your own room.” He brushes a hand off on the side of his pants, as Vena struggles to stand, but ends up more or less sprawling at his feet.

“Come on, baby,” he croons. “Don’t be like that.”

Tasallir’s lip curls, and his stomach drops. He stiffens as Vena grasps his leg in order to help himself stand, and then ends up leaning against him. Warm hands and bare skin and much,  _much_  too much contact. Tasallir bats him off, but the man is like an octopus, or possibly a lamprey. He sighs, and reeks, and starts seeing off-key songs as Tasallir finally gives up and just settles on fleeing. His hair in disarray, and his heart thumping as his skin tingles.

He gets into his room and closes the door, and takes a moment to resettle his nerves. He counts to nine, slowly, and then starts straightening himself out again.

He is still locked in that process when there is a knock on his door.

“Taaaz,” Vena calls. “Taz. I’m sorry. Tasallir. Come on. Can I braid your hair?”

“No,” Tasallir snaps. The last time he permitted Venavismi that liberty whilst drunk, it came out lopsided.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” Vena asks.

“Definitely not!” he insists, bristling.

But even as he bristles, some strange, stray part of himself tries to imagine it. Not the potential vulgarities that Venavismi is almost certainly alluding to. But just… having him there. Actually sleeping. Clean and pressed and smelling like fresh laundry instead of alcohol, a warm body beside Tasallir’s own. He doesn’t know why his traitorous imagination insists on envisioning it. He surely wouldn’t be able to withstand it for long, let alone derive much enjoyment out of it. And Venavismi would almost  _certainly_  presume upon him, in such a situation.

And yet…

Some irrational part of Tasallir thinks he might not, too.

He doesn’t know why. Why he finds himself craving a little more contact, with every touch. Wishing he could know for certain that it is safe to want; that he could invite some things without unintentionally inviting others. Why it’s  _Venavismi,_  of all people, who complicates these things. Why, even when he emphatically doesn’t want sex of any kind, he sometimes finds himself daydreaming about a kiss or two.

He’s not even sure if he  _likes_  that daydream.

“Taaaaz,” Vena calls.

“Go to bed, Venavismi. You are drunk and unfit to be interacted with,” Tasallir replies, scowling and folding his arms.

This disaster of an elf.

He listens as the man finally stumbles off, into his own room.

What a trial.

 

~

 

Vena’d always heard it told that university was more stressful than highschool.

And he guesses that makes sense, logically. It’s supposed to be the point where people are branching out on their own, and not living with their parents for the first time, and facing the pressures to make their own schedules and shape their own destiny and all that stuff. Tuition is a nightmare and scholarships are hard, and there’s jobs to consider, and applications, and survival of the fittest.

For the first time in  his life, Vena actually has  _free time._

The first thing he does when he graduates from highschool is get his own individual assets secured away from his parents. They’ve been grooming him to go into law since preschool, basically, so it’s not actually that hard. He gets a new phone, with a new number; a new e-mail address. Deletes his Facebook. Burns any snail mail they send him, and finally feels like he can  _breathe._  The first morning he wakes up after six a.m., then, he’s hit with a wave of mortifying anxiety.

No, no, no.

He’s supposed to be  _free._

He doesn’t even know  _why_  he’s feeling anxious, except maybe that the only times he’s ever been allowed to sleep in before in his life have been times when he was sick. He defiantly tries to go back to sleep, but he can’t escape the anxious twist in his gut that says that he needs to be getting up and doing things and accomplishing his best in order to avoid becoming a lazy, worthless waste of space.

When that utterly fails, he heaves a dejected sigh, and gets up.

He’ll get drunk, he thinks. It’s his day off. He’ll get drunk  _before noon._  That’ll show ‘em. He makes his way into the kitchen, clad only in his boxers, and pulls a beer out of the fridge.

Five minutes later, he sighs, and puts it back - unopened - and gets out the blender instead. He makes smoothies; shoving a couple of bananas into the fray, and that, at least, makes him smile. Ana-bo-bana. He wonders how she’s doing. Last he heard she was planning on coming to school here, too; so maybe he’ll have half a chance at making prom up to her. He imagines her coming into the house sometimes. Maybe sitting on the counter, throwing fruit into the mixer and talking about, like, different kinds of pears or something.

The cabinets are almost the same colour as her hair.

After a few minutes, he starts humming the latest bubblegum pop song to get stuck in his head, and sashaying his hips along with it as he finishes up his smoothies. He’s in the middle of working up a decent air guitar stint when he turns and sees one of the other fraternity members - Tas-something, he thinks - staring at him.

Staring at him like he’s some kind of  _hooligan._

That’s a look that just says ‘hooligan’.

Vena grins, and winks at him.

“Want a smoothie, gorgeous?” he asks.

“House regulations state that people in public areas should be  _clothed,”_  Taz tells him.

Vena’s grin widens. Really? He hadn’t even thought of that. He’s  _violating house rules._  Like a fiend.

Perfect.

“I’m wearing clothes. Cloth. Fabric, anyway,” Vena replies, waggling his eyebrows. Man, this guy is  _stunning._  It’s seven in the morning and he doesn’t have a hair out of place, and those eyes are killer. And is that a Starkhaven accent he detects?

Hot damn.

The stick-in-the-mud points back towards the hall.

“Underwear is not appropriate attire for public spaces,” he insists.

“You gonna cuff me?” Vena wonders.

Taz looks distinctly uncomfortable, though. So maybe he crossed a line with that one. He backpedals a bit, and shrugs. He broke a rule this morning. That’s what counts, in the end.

“Alright, I’ll go find some shorts,” he agrees. “But then do you want to have smoothies?”

“They’re probably too sugary,” Taz mutters.

 _Oh, good,_  Vena thinks. This fraternity comes with a built-in barometer of uptightness. Something in him unclenches, gratefully, as he walks past, and realizes that no matter how many rules and regulations and structures have eaten his life so far, he’s probably never going to be as married to them as  _this_  guy.

He stops as he walks past, and claps the man on the shoulder.

“Thank you so much,” he says.

Taz blinks, confused; but Vena just carries along, whistling his tune.

 

~

 

The coming of the winter months means everyone’s favorite:  _finals_. The library is packed, parties become scarcer, and almost all the students drown themselves in a sea of textbooks, notes, and coffee. Elanna stares at the calendar on her wall; it’s one of those dry-erase ones so she doesn’t have to keep replacing it. Finals start in two weeks, and she sets about making a study schedule, filling in the empty squares with her marker and circling especially important subjects in red. By the time she’s done, the previously empty calendar board is covered in black and red marks, almost every day for the next 14 days is booked.

“Holy shit, Ellie,” her roommate says, walking up to Elanna and throwing her arm around the elf’s shoulders. “You  _really_  need to loosen up more. This is nuts! How do you even do this shit? Like, taking exams and going to class… don’t you know college is the time to have fun, live a little, Ellie!”

Elanna scrunches her nose at the nickname. She doesn’t like it. Her roommate doesn’t seem to understand boundaries, and has a skewed sense her own priorities.

“You really think think that?” Ana asks, a little dumbfounded.

“Fuck yeah! Listen, there’s a party tonight at my boyfriends university. I can bring you along. We can get you a hook up there. Maybe you can even finally have your first kiss or something. I doubt you’ve ever been with a human before.”

Elanna makes quick work of untangling herself from her roommate. “You mean the boyfriend you’ve been seeing for 3 days? No, absolutely not. As you can see, I am booked until next semester, so no. No thank you.” She has absolutely no problem with humans, or any other race, but anyone who hangs around her roommate for fun has got to be bad news.

“Shit, girl you said ‘no’ like… four times.”

“I just wanted to make myself perfectly clear.”

“Alright, be a fuckin’ stick-in-the-mud,” she says as she picks up her mattress and pulls out her stash. Ana quickly decides she doesn’t want to be in the room when their neighbors call security.

_Again._

She thinks about going to study with Vena, but that would just be bothering his study time, and instead opts for studying on the quad

~

Elanna doesn’t realize that it’s gotten dark until the lamps turn on. She doesn’t think it’s the best idea to go back to her room just yet, so she starts for the library building. The cold is beginning to set in as she wraps her blanket tighter around her body and makes a quick stop at the cafeteria on the way to get a cup of coffee.

When she finally makes it to the library, there are students walking between the shelves like zombies. The library is open late until finals end. Ana takes a seat in a less populated area of the library and continues her studies.

Time marches on, and Elanna doesn’t realize it’s well past midnight until her phone goes off. Almost everyone has left, and anyone still there are too engrossed in their textbooks to be bothered by the sudden chime. She quickly answers the phone, and suddenly time seems to stop. Her tongue feels like it’s swollen, and she is suddenly made very aware of how dry her throat feels. She bids the caller a goodbye in elven and taps the “end call” button.

Her keeper had just informed her that her uncle has just suffered a terrible accident, and likely won’t make it. The healers will do all they can. There is no feeling of sadness, there is simply no feeling. Elanna begins to pack her bag and secure her blanket around her body once more before shuffling out of the library.

She makes it back to her room and puts her phone to charge and tries to sleep, but her mind wanders to the last time she felt this way. Back when her parents had died in that “accident” in the alienage. She wonders if some rich asshole thought it’d be fun to target her clan. She doesn’t want to think on it.

The plan is to finish finals and go back to her clan for Wintersend break.

~

As the days go by, Elanna has thrown herself into her studies. Her keeper called a few more times to update Ana on her uncles situation. He was moved to the local hospital since there wasn’t anything more the clan could do, and now the doctors will try to help him. His bones are fractured, and he hit his head very hard.

Serahlin had tried to invite her over for a study session multiple times and Ana respectfully declined them all. She hasn’t told anyone about the phone call with her keeper, it’s not something she thinks is important for them to know. She thinks they are starting to worry, especially after Adannar tried to hug her and she very visibly tensed in his arms.

Ana begins to notice their unease a week before finals start. Serahlin calls her more often, Selene texts her more, Vena shows up in places he normally wouldn’t be in. Even Uthvir tries to talk to her in one of their classes. They’ve never really spoken to her, other than a polite ‘hello’ and ‘what was the homework, again?’ Serahlin’s work, she thinks. She knows everyone, Ana reminds herself. She probably put them up to it.

~

Ana decides to use Uthvir’s unusually chatty mood to exchange notes and review for their upcoming tests. They are comparing notes at one of the lunch tables outside the science building when Vena approaches them. Uthvir decides to take their leave then.

“So you’ll text me the rest of these notes, yeah?” They ask as they pack up.

“Yup. I’ll send them tonight. Check the library for the book I mentioned. It’s got helpful diagrams  and if you want I can send those notes, too,” Ana offers.

“Sounds good. Talk to you later,” they say as Vena slides into their previously occupied seat.

“Banaaaana,” he says as he wiggles his eyebrows. Ana smiles, really smiles.

“Vennnaa,” she offers back. “Whats up? Why are you hanging around the science building?”

“No reason. Just haven’t seen you in a while, and wanted to know what’s up.” Ana holds up a textbook.

“Studies. Finals. Oh-so-dreaded-week-of-hell is approaching fast and I plan to pass with flying colors. I can’t lose my scholarship.”

“Yes, yes, other than that,” Vena asks. “It’s been weird. Serahlin is convinced you’re not telling us something and she kinda wants to find out. I just hope you’re not in any sort of trouble.”

Ana raises her eyebrows at that. Trouble? Really? No, she’s not in trouble. She shakes her head.

Vena’s shoulders relax, “good.” He smiles and takes her hand “I’ve practically got the house to myself all break since most of the bros are going home. Dithamen will be around, just not in the house itself. Taz is going home and so is Thenvunin and Adannar. Come over for some movies and food.”

Ana shakes her head again and watches as his smile disappears. Oh, her that makes her heart ache. “I’m sorry, I’ll be going back to the clan for a while. I’ll try to send everyone a Wintersend gift, though.”

~

Final week comes and goes, and everyone rejoices once it’s over. Serahlin tries to invite Ana over for drinks before she leaves, but Ana declines again.

“Elanna, you’ve been avoiding us for the past two weeks. Is everything really okay? You know we are your friends, and we are here for you,” Serahlin says over the phone.

“Yes, Lin everything is fine. I promise I am not in any sort of trouble. I just can’t come out tonight, I have an early flight.”

“We can come over to your room. Hasn’t your annoying roommate been kicked out? We can watch some movies and how about some take out. I’ll buy.” Serahlin offers.

The sentiment warms Ana’s heart. Oh, she loves her friends, but this is clan stuff, and family stuff. She doesn’t like talking about it, and it’s a personal matter. She’s kept all of it to herself. Not even Vena knows.

There’s a chime that indicates a call on the second line. “Thanks Serahlin, but I have to decline. Tell Selene I’m sorry, too. I’m getting another call so I’ll see you when I get back.” She doesn’t give Serahlin time to protest as she answers her keeper on the second line.

More bad news. She goes to bed, then.

~

Elanna makes it in time for the funeral. Her uncle’s body is buried and a tree is planted above it. She sings a song for him in mourning. The keeper is kind and offers Elanna his condolences and is afforded stay in her uncles aravel. Ana spends the rest of her break with the clan, taking her place among the hunters once more. It feels good to run through the forrest, her knives at her back and fellow hunters at her side. She spends time with the clans craftsman to make gifts for her friends. Her cellphone has poor service with the camp, so she cannot contact them unless she travels into the nearby city. The keeper offers her a place at camp before she has to go back.

“You can stay with us, da’len. You may have lost the last of your blood, but remember, we are your blood. You can stay with us. One more excellent hunter is nothing to turn up your nose at.”

“Thank you, but I have duties and responsibilities where I am going. Your clan has been very kind to me all my life, and I cannot thank you enough for everything. You took me in when I had no place to go, and my uncle was there to hold me when I had no parents to chase away my nightmares. I think it is time for me to stand on my own two feet.” Clan Ghilain was never  _her_  clan. It was her mothers clan and her uncles clan, but never hers. She was brought to them and grew up with them, but she never counted herself as part of it.

“You have made your family and your clan proud. Please do keep in touch, da’len.”

_Your clan._

_~_

Elanna returns a few weeks before the new semester is to start. She is given a single room since her roommate got kicked out of school, and for that she is glad. Her phone is blowing up with messages from everyone.

“Happy Wintersend! <33333 We have gifts for you so call me when you’re back!” from Serahlin.

“When are you coming back we miss u! Call me when you come home! We are dying to see you :) ” from Selene

“Banananananananana~” from Vena with a slew of nonsensical emojis.

There was even a text from Uthvir, thanking her for the notes. There’s another from Adannar asking after the products she uses on her skin for Thenvunin. She decides to make a new batch for them. It will be fun to see their faces when she tells them she makes the creams and masks herself.

As she scrolls though all her messages, the weight of everything she’s been carrying on her shoulders comes crashing down. She crumples over as she lets out great sobs alone in the darkness of her room.

 

~

 

Elanna hears about a whole lot of drama form a whole lot of sources. Selene and Serahlin made up quickly, she knows. Vena talks to her about it, as do the other bros in the house. She raises her brow at the thought of miscommunications and how stories and feelings get so tangled up that it hurts friendships. She thanks the Creators that her friends were quick and smart enough to untangle everything.

She really hasn’t had friendships for long, and she is quite new to the concept. It was her uncles idea for her to attend schools to better educate herself.

“Da’vhenan I cannot teach you everything.” he would tell her. “I want you to be able to experience many things in the world. Go learn among the humans, dwarfs, qunari, and city elves. They have much to teach that I cannot.” He often assured her that this would be her parents’ wish, and so she endured schooling outside the clan, as well as with her uncle.

In high school and middle school the other kids picked on her often. When she changed in the locker room, the other girls made fun of her freckles. The boys laughed at her braces, and would often dare each other to talk to her, or touch her. She was glad to be done when she graduated high school.

College often came up when she spoke with her uncle. “If you are satisfied with what you have learned, that is fine, but I know you, Elanna. We can easily offer you a place in the clan, you have proven to be an exceptional hunter, but I don’t think it is what you really want to do. If you want to pursue higher education, we can work it out. Scholarships are difficult to get, but I can pull favors from your fathers clan in the Free Marches.”

“Do you really think Clan Lavellan would want to help me? I’ve never met any of their members. Father never really talked about them.”

“I know the keeper. She’s a tough one but I am sure I can charm her,” he says with a wink.

~

Her uncle was the first to call her after her first day of classes.

“Everything you’d ever hoped for, da’len?”

“It’s too early to say, however I think my roommate might be a bit of a nightmare.” She hears him laugh across the line.

“Learn from her, da’len. Learn from her mistakes to better yourself. Never stop learning.”

~

Ana thinks she could learn a thing or two from this whole debacle with Selene and Serahlin. Feelings are messy, and she does not want to get herself tangled up in them.


	8. Morning After

Thenvunin leaves the room before too long, and Selene groans as she rolls her head in her hands.

_No more emotional drinking_ , she scolds herself.

Adannar grabs a water bottle off of his night stand and tosses it to her. She doesn’t manage to catch it, as it whaps her lightly in the face, and she mumbles a quiet ‘ow’ before picking it up and taking a sip.

“So…Serahlin stopped by,” he starts.

“Oh? Is everything ok?”

“Definitely not. I need your help, Sel.”

Selene groans and plops back down on the bed. That’s never a positive sentence.

 

Adannar explains the situation and Selenes stomach drops. Her face is pale, and Adannar is pacing around the room nervously. “What do I do?” he finally asks.

 

“Nothing,” Selene replies after a moment of silence.

 

He stops moving then, and approaches her, hands tightening at his sides “'Nothing’?! I can’t just do nothing, she thinks we had sex, Sel!”

Selene flinches a bit at his change in body language, but pushes forward  and sits up “Look, Adannar, I know you want to find a solution to this. I know Serahlin means a lot to you, but forcing yourself into her space isn’t going to help anything, especially not right now.”

“But-”

“No, Adannar. The best thing you can do for Serahlin right now, is give her the distance she asked for. Prove that you respect her, and her wishes, through your actions. Drowning her in apologies and excuses is only going to make things worse.”

 

Adannar pouts, and plops down onto the edge of the bed. His new puppy crawls into his lap and licks at his face, and the tension seems to fall out of him with it. “Yeah. You’re probably right, Sel. Thanks, I guess…”

 

Selene pats his shoulder comfortingly “I know it’s hard. Focus on something else instead maybe,” she looks at the puppy in his lap “Like finding this little guy a home, or convincing Thenvunin to let him stay, because I really will end up homeless if I take him.”

 

“Yeah. I’ll get Aelynthi on my side. Or maybe even Uthvir. If Uthvir likes the puppy, there’s no way Thenvunin’ll kick it out.”

 

Selene nods encouragingly, despite not really knowing who Adannar is talking about. “Sounds like a plan. You work on that then, ok?”

 

“Ok. Thanks Sel,” Adannar grins before pulling her against him tightly for a hug.

–

Selene really  _was_  planning on giving Serahlin her space. Really. She just has a pair of incredibly traitorous feet, she thinks as she stares at the house near the school.

She takes a deep breath before she rings the doorbell.

For a long time, there is no answer. So she rings it again.

 

This time, Serahlin appears, dressed in all black and wearing a large hat.

Selene is not very good at reading the hidden meaning of most of Serahlins outfits, but she thinks she’s got a pretty good idea about this one.

“Can I help you?” She asks in clipped tones.

“Serahlin, can we talk?”

“Is there really something to talk  _about_?”

“Yes.”

 

Serahlin ’ _hmphs_ ’ and moves to close the door, but Selene pushes her foot into the way.   
“Please. Don’t you think it’s maybe possible, that with everything that’s happened over the last week, there might be a bit more to what’s going on than whatever it is you think you saw?” Selene pleads.

Serahlin doesn’t answer, so Selene continues in a quieter voice “We’re friends. Please, just listen, and if you hate me at the end of it, I’ll walk out of here and you can publicly drag my name through the mud in whatever way satisfies you best, and I’ll be known as the school slut or liar or traitor, or whatever you want, and if anyone asks I’ll just tell them whatever you said is true, just, please. Please listen, first.”  
  


Serahlin pauses then, and slowly opens the door, her shoulders slumping; she knows Selene isn’t really any of those things, and that they  _are_  friends. She leads her to her own room, and locks the door behind them, then sits down on the bed with her arms and legs folded.

“Alright. Go ahead,” she offers.

 

Selene takes a deep breath, not really sure how to explain things; she didn’t actually think she would get this far.

“Alright, so. We already talked about the…thing, with Dirthamen, last night. Ok. Well, the reason I was with Dirthamen was because Adannar, well, he likes you. A lot. Like a crazy amount, even for him. He’s been asking me to run interference so that he could spend time with you more, which was why I was hanging out with Dirthamen so much at first but then I ended up really liking him and-ok, that’s not relevant to what’s happening right now, you’re right, sorry. So, Adannar was really worried that he seriously upset you last night when he gave you the necklace he made, and he was texting me about it for most of the day because he can’t really talk to his Bros about it. Well he can, but they don’t really know what you like and I guess their advice sometimes is sort of, well, terrible? I don’t think mine is really much better, but anyways, Adannar was really worried. Like to the point that he bought a puppy because he thought you would like it but I told him you wouldn’t like anything that would chew up your shoes, so I guess _he’s_ keeping the puppy now, except I’m also sort of keeping the puppy now, I don’t know that’s probably a different conversation I should have with him. Right, I’m getting off topic, you’re right, I’m sorry. So Adannar found a bar that let dogs in, and he was drinking, and then I went to drink with him because he was sad and he invited me, and we both drank too much and got kicked out of the bar, and hm, he still has my letter, I should-Sorry, getting off topic again, sorry. Anyways, we ran back towards the house because, well, we were drunk, and then I passed out on his bed because I was still exhausted and I guess a little after that is when you came by? And that’s all that happened.”

 

Serahlin uncrosses her arms, and leans back on the bed.

“Why was Adannar shirtless?”

Selene shrugs “I think maybe it’s a house rule? None of them seem to ever be wearing shirts, but I swear I’m not the one who took it off.”

“So you and Adannar didn’t do…anything, then? No kissing, or making out, or touching, or fucking?”

Selene flinches at the last word “Right.”

 

Serahlin leans forward a bit, still tense and wound up from the mornings phone calls “How do I know you’re telling the truth? Adannar is certainly attractive enough, and the opportunity was there. How do I know you’re not lying to try and save face?”

Selene shifts lightly on her feet. “Because I…” Selene lets out a heavy sigh “I can’t really…I’m not…”

Serahlin waits patiently for her friend to find the correct words. Some of the tension does seem to be dissipating, but Selene knows she’s going to have to tell the truth to fix this.

 

“Can you keep a secret for me?” Selene whispers.

Serahlin rises one perfectly waxed eyebrow and nods

“I…can’t really  _have_  sex.”

 

Serahlins eyebrows crease together then “That is the stupidest excuse I have ever heard.”

 

“I know. It’s..” Selene takes a deep, shaky breath before continuing “Back when I was still living with my clan, there was this man, Haleir. He handled most of our exports, so he traveled a lot. I went with him, sometimes. We dated. Well, I thought we dated, it’s complicated, I don’t really want to get into it. Anyway, we eventually had sex, because I was old enough and he wanted to and I thought _I_  wanted to, but it was terrible. Like, really terrible. There was a lot of blood, and I didn’t enjoy it at all and he was trying to tell me how to fix what I was doing wrong, and we even tried it again another time because I thought I could do better, but it was still awful and just. I don’t know. There’s something…” Selene gestures vaguely at herself and tries her best not to shake too much “wrong, somewhere. I thought for a minute the night before last that I could maybe try it again with Dirthamen, but I panicked, and, well, you know how that ended up. So, I can’t really have sex. So, I can’t have had sex with Adannar.”

 

Serahlin is scrutinizing Selene now, who squirms under the weight of it. She seems to be satisfied with whatever she finds though, before she wraps her arms around Selene like she had the night of the party. “Oh, honey. There’s nothing wrong with you. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. I just, for a moment I saw Darris and Elvara again and I’ve been having all these conflicting thoughts about Adannar, and-” she shakes her head, laughing a little “This whole week has been insane. I’m ready for a vacay.”

 

“So you don’t hate me…?” Selene asks, more than a little hopeful as she loosely returns the hug.

 

“No. Oh, no no no. Let’s just, can we not do this again? Let’s just, make a pact; open communication lines, no more secrets, and no more jumping to conclusions. If we have an issue, we’ll discuss it, hopefully before anything drastic happens. Promise?”

Selene nods eagerly, tightening the hug before pulling back “I promise.”

 

Serahlin returns the smile and places the hat she had been wearing on top of Selenes head “Now, you said something about a letter…?”

 

~

 

Something is barking.

It takes Selene a moment to realize that it is barking at  _her._

Trying to force herself awake, she blearily opens one eye, and then another.

They slam closed instantly when the sunlight beams in through the open blinds.

She’s pretty sure those were closed when she went to bed.

 

Forcing herself to sit up, Selene gazes, still half asleep, at the small puppy repeatedly attempting to leap onto her bed, but coming up short each time and bouncing back on the leash.

It would probably be cute if she weren’t so tired.

 

“Wow Sel. You’re not a morning bro, huh?”

“Mmergh,” is what she manages.

 

Wait.

Why is there a dog in her apartment.

Why is  _Adannar_  in her apartment?

She takes a mental inventory of the night before and yeah, she definitely fell asleep alone.

At least she wore pants last night.

“Adannar…”

“Yeah Sel?”

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Oh, well, I was taking Sis with me for my morning run since she’s gotta like, run and walk a lot, and I guess she picked up your scent somewhere ‘cause she dragged me all this way and started scratching at your door and stuff and when I was like ‘Hey this is Sels apartment’ I figured you’d be fine if I let her in.”

 

Selene nods slowly, but she’s still barely registering any of his words. It’s too early to be that perky.

“How did you get in?”

“Don’t ya remember giving me that spare key, Sel? When I came by to study for trig, but you were always late. You said I could use it to let myself in.”

That sounds…vaguely familiar, she thinks. Adannar’s not an unsavory type, so she’s not too worried about it.

 

“Right. Do you want some….I dunno, there’s some cereal in the cupboard,” she yawns, then runs a hand down her face to try to force herself awake “No milk though. I think Elanna left some juice behind the last time she came by that might still be in there.”

“You live on dry cereal? Gross, Sel.”

 

She levels a stare at him and tries very hard not to say anything rude to the bundle of happiness and sunshine that decided to force her awake at…7:15am, as she glances at the clock on her first day cleared of work and classes  _and_  events in the last two months.

 

It’s not at all that she dislikes her friends. She loves them, really and truly. But Elanna seems to be the only one who really  _gets_  just how difficult it is to hold onto scholarships at this school. It’s not enough to pass your classes, you also have to  _excel_  at something in order to retain it. Staying ahead of the curve in math is simple enough for Selene, but even just catching up to where the freshman are expected to be in history has been a lot for her. Her clan didn’t really pay much attention to which Magister passed which law because of which event in Tevinter, or which Fereldan Lord pissed off which other Fereldan lord with their crops, because it wasn’t seen as relevant. Serahlin has been wonderful helping her with flashcards and lists of resources and museums she can visit (some of which even offered free entrance for students), but keeping up with even the smaller social events on top of her study schedule is exhausting.

She wasn’t planning to wake up until at least noon, today.

 

“You live on hot sauce and oreos, you don’t get to judge me,” Selene eventually retorts, slipping out of bed to sit on the floor and pet the energetic puppy.

Adannar plops down with them, and Selene ignores that it makes her entire room shake when he does. “So uh. We haven’t really talked since that whole thing with Serahlin,” Adannar begins

“She and I spoke and cleared things up. You should give her some space though. Things have been crazy. She and Tasallir are taking a spa day today to get over the last few weeks.”

Adannar nods “Yeah,  you’re right Sel, you’re right. Oh yeah, by the way, you left this at my place,” he says as he fishes a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket.

Selene takes it from him and glances over the first line before quickly placing it face down on her bed.

 

No, she can deal with that when she’s actually awake.

 

Adannar leaves before long, and Selene dresses and heads out to the grocery store. She may as well run her errands now that she’s up. It’s a longer walk to the outlet food store, but the difference in price is drastic and she has the cooler-on-wheels Venavismi was kind enough to let her have after rush week this year to help keep anything from spoiling on the walk home.

It takes about 3 hours overall, and after she gets it all put away she stares at the letter still sitting on her bed.

She taps her foot three times.

Then she decides to go through Serahlins flashcards for an hour instead.

 

She eats after that, cereal  _with_ milk, thank-you-very-much Adannar. Stares at her phone, and double checks her calendar to make sure she’s not forgetting anything. She has an email that Glory and Desires website switched hosts, but nothing else that sticks out at her.

 

She stares at the paper on her bed again, once she’s finished washing her bowl and spoon.

Ok. She can do this. It’s just a letter.

Adannar said it was good, so it’s probably not  _bad_  news. He wouldn’t have brought it back if Dirthamen had said he hated her and called her slurs or anything in it.

Probably.

Selene sits cross-legged on the bed, and begins to read.

_[Dear Selene](http://feynites.tumblr.com/post/148958063094/i-love-the-frat-au-would-you-continue-it-when),_

–

She reads through it three times.

Paces around her room.

Then reads it two more times.

 

She googles 'pear trees’ and the first results look top heavy and lumpy until she sees one in bloom with it’s white flowers blossoming and ’ _oh_ ’ she hopes ’ _perhaps that is what he meant_ ’.

 

She spends a lot of time trying to analyze 'Yours’.

It seems like a very intimate way to end a letter. But she has also not received many letters over the course of her life so far, and for a moment she wonders if it is worth asking Serahlin about. Then she thinks of all that she’s been through lately and decides no, she needs her spa day. Selene can ask her later.

  
A quiet voice in the back of her head suggests asking  _him._

Logically, she knows that would make the most sense. He wrote the letter, and he is very brilliant himself she thinks, so the word choice was certainly deliberate. She may even be insulting him by not analyzing it fully.

She reminds herself of this as she grabs her purse and walks towards the frat house, letter in hand.

She forgets this when she knocks on the door and he is the one who answers.

 

He blinks a few times, as though he was not expecting to see her there, either.

Probably should have sent Vena a text before barging over here, she berates herself.

“Hi,” she ventures.

There is a pause.

“Hello.”

“Are you-That is-Can I come in? If you’re not busy. It’s fine if you are, I can come back later. Or something.”

Dirthamen opens the door wider, and gestures for her to enter.

She does, and she waves back at Venavismi, who is lounging on the couch with Aelynthi, a bowl of popcorn, and a movie playing on their TV.

“Is everything alright?” he asks her as she shifts her weight from foot to foot.

“I..I think so? I um, I just read your letter-”

There is the distinct sound of rustling coming from the couch as Vena seems to be sitting much straighter than he had been before. Aelynthi just rolls his eyes.

“-…could we maybe talk about it somewhere more private?”

Dirthamen nods, but then pauses “Would my room be acceptable for you?”

Her heart jumps a bit in her chest “Yes.”

She follows him up the stairs, and he holds the door open for her as she steps back into his room.

It looks different during the day, at least.

They are both quiet for several minutes.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Selene says, and then winces. Not really her smoothest opening line.

Dirthamen seems pleased enough with it though. Some of the tension eases out of his posture as he says “Thank you.”

“The thing is,” she begins as she runs a hand through her hair nervously “I like you. A lot. I’m just not good at, well, a lot of things really. Your behavior at the party was fine, and you didn’t offend me, I just have some issues that I’m…well, 'dealing with’ is probably not accurate, but I’m not really sure what else to call it. They popped up, -through no fault of yours!- and I panicked. That’s my fault. I am sorry, sincerely, for upsetting you or making you think that you did something wrong. Your letter was beautiful, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to read it, life has been sort of crazy, lately. You probably heard, everyone seems to gossip at this school,” she laughs uneasily “But uh. I’m just, not sure that I can really handle a relationship. It’s not that I don’t want you, I do, and oh that sounds way worse than I meant for it to. I mean, you seem very kind, and smart, and I think you are very handsome and I really liked the kissing. I don’t have a lot of free time, though. Today is actually the first day I have had entirely off in over a month, and I don’t even have another one scheduled, plus one of my Professors asked me to look into a summer internship with them so I don’t know when or if that’ll change. But if you’d like to be friends still, I’d really like that. We don’t have to close the door on the possibility of a romance or anything, I just don’t think I can devote the sort of time you would deserve in that kind of a relationship. Right now.”

He is staring at her. She fidgets and wonders if he is already rethinking things.

“You are sure that you would be comfortable being friends with me?” he asks

“Yes,” she answers quickly.

His eyes soften then, just slightly around the edges and her mouth goes dry.

“I would enjoy that very much then. Thank you.”

She smiles at him, and feels a weight lift from her.

But now they are both just standing around alone in his room, and the awkwardness begins to return.

“Would you….like to watch a movie?” He offers.

Thinking back on how things had gone the last time, Selene declines. “Maybe a walk? Something less likely to end horizontal,” she jokes.

His cheeks turns a stunning shade of pink, and oh, she’s in trouble.

“That sounds wonderful,” he manages, and together they manage to leave the house.

 

~

 

He’s trying to come up with a good girl dog name, but nothing seems to work. He kind of likes the idea of naming her after some badass warrior chick from legend. Like Aveline or Lindiranae, he could call her Linda for short. But the names don’t exactly fit. While little sis is smart and certainly awesome, she’s not exactly badass with her wiggling bum and wet nose.

Thenvunin sometimes gets mad at her because she likes to sneak into his room to look at the birds. But she doesn’t even bother the birds! She just whines at them and wags her tail. But noooo, the birds are  _sensitive_  and have to be properly socialized, which doesn’t include a dog.

Tasallir ignores her up until the moment she makes off with one of his shoes. Then he calls her a mangy mutt and threatens to throw her out on the street with the rest of her kind.

Vena has a talk with him about that afterwards. She didn’t even chew the shoe, she just wanted to play.

By and far, littlest sis’s favorite thing in the whole wide world is belly rubs. She looooves belly rubs. Ana is the one to discover this that first night she’s back over. Vena had somehow convinced her to come out of her little hidey hole to spend time with some people who wouldn’t make her talk, plus there’s a puppy involved.

She sits on the floor with the littlest sis and is petting her when she flops over. Adannar, the ever concerned parent, leaps up to help her when Ana starts rubbing the belly. Littlest sis makes her happy puppy noises which makes Adannar go “aaaww” and Vena to smile. Ana smiles down at littlest sis, rubbing her belly enthusiastically until she rolls over and begins to run around again. She runs from between Vena, Ana, and Adannar.

At one point, she makes a beeline towards Thenvunin’s room, only to be ushered back into the common area.

The week following the introduction of littlest sis and bird bros to the house goes pretty well, Adannar thinks. Thenvunin falls into a schedule of tending to his birds, whom he’s already gotten attached to.  On Tuesday, Ana comes over again to say hi to Vena, which turns into a more long-drawn out endeavor. Adannar finds her curled against Vena on the couch, snuggling deeply into a cocoon of blankets with littlest sis somehow nestled in there too.

Uthvir comes over on their typical Wednesday and Adannar tries to get them to try his new hot sauce. As ever, they decline and head back to Thenvunin’s room. Thursday rolls around and Adannar can’t help but feel jittery. It’s Serahlin and Tasallir’s Tea Day where they go to this little niche café, and talk about…whatever it is they talk about. And usually, Serahlin drops by the house to pick Tasallir up since she has the better car.

So Adannar paces. Littlest sis follows him around with a serious expression on her face.

“Should I do anything, littlest si?” He asks. She chuffs at him.

“Ah, you’re right, she probably doesn’t want to hear it.” But he wants to talk to her  _so badly._  Selene told him that she had cleared everything up with Serahlin, but he’s still worried that she thinks he…that he would ever do such a thing.

But he knows she needs her space, and that giving her space is the best thing he can do at the moment.

Serahlin doesn’t show up for the tea time; instead, Tasallir leaves and Adannar guesses that makes sense.

Tasallir also leaves for the weekend, apparently Serahlin is taking him to a spa for a weekend of relaxation. Good, she deserves it.

Another week starts. Ana visits on Tuesday. Uthvir’s there on Wednesday. And on Thursday, the doorbell rings just as Adannar is walking by it, littlest sis on his heel. Without even thinking, he opens the door to find Serahlin standing there.

She’s dressed in lilac today, with her hair in loose waves. His breath catches and is struck once again by her beauty. How can anyone be so beautiful? And like, it’s not even because of her makeup, which is really pretty and well done too, but she walks around without it sometimes, during the Dalish holidays, usually. And she is just…radiant, with her bright pink eyes and her flawless skin, her small, pretty smile.

Her eyes widen, “Adannar, hello.”

“Hi, Serahlin. Oh, come in.” He steps to the side to let her in.

“Oh!” She says, laughing slightly when the puppy starts sniffing her feet, her whole body wiggling with her tail in happiness.

“Selene mentioned you got a puppy. And oooh, she’s so cute.” And then much to Adannar’s surprise, Serahlin bends down and actually picks the puppy up and brings her to her chest. She holds the puppy firmly, but not uncomfortably and coos at her.

His jaw drops just a bit and his heart swells. Look at these two ladies! Stunning, beautiful, amazing.

“Have you given her a name?” She scratches littlest sis behind the ear, making the puppy wiggle and pant happily.

“Not yet, nothing seems right.”

“Adannar! You’ve had her for over a week.”

“I know! Sis needs a good name though, not like…Trudy or something.” He pets his pup’s head and she makes a little play growl at him. Serahlin giggles and Adannar just about dies.

“No, she needs something pretty, just like she is. And soft, understated…like flowers.”

“Flowers?” Adannar asks, bringing his gaze up from the puppy to Serahlin’s.

“Or maybe just Flower. A pretty, little golden Flower.”

Flower.

“It’s perfect.” He breathes, smiling at his newly named pup. There is a long pause while they simply shower little Flower with attention. She eats it up of course, just like the venison flavored puppy-chow. His eyes follow Serahlin’s arm and wonders at how easy she holds the puppy. Selene had said that she probably wouldn’t like dogs, but here she is…snuggling Flower.

The door swings open and Serahlin moves to the side to avoid it.

“I’m sorry, I’m running late, I had to explain to my professor the logical fallacies in his argument about the Exalted Marches…and are you holding a  _dog_?” Tasallir says as he opens the door into the foyer. Serahlin laughs and continues to hold onto Flower, even rocking her a bit in her arms.

“Yes, I am! She is so soft, Tasallir. Have you touched her?” But she sets Flower back on the floor with a wide smile.

“No, I do not plan to. I just need to change, Serahlin, then we can go. You will not  _believe_  what that idiot  _Dr._ Frank said about the Dales.” The man disappears into the back of the house, leaving Serahlin and Adannar alone once more. She looks at him and smiles again before adjusting her shirt, picking at the few hairs Flower left.

“Your shirt’s pretty awesome, lilac’s a good color on you, but then again, everything looks good on you. You’re like a model.” Oh shit. No, nooooo. Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to go and take the foot out of his mouth? It was the only thing from preventing that!

But she just chuckles, “Oh there are some colors. I’m not a fan of any non-pastel yellow. And green – green is such a tricky color for me. But thank you, Adannar, that’s very sweet.” Her eyes flick over his form and conflicting urges flood him. He wants to shrink back because hey, he knows he looks good, but like, Thenvunin’s bod is way trimmer and does that nice V thing, and Aelynthi has that whole thinner more fashionable physique, and then there’s Vena with his perfect thighs. Adannar is…remarkably plain next to his bros. Square muscle and torso, but he  _is_ well muscled, and his skin is soft. Serahlin’s totally welcome to touch his arms if she wants, the other day he was even able to lift more than Thenvunin. Meaning that Thenvunin had to buy their paninis from that nice bistro on Spring Street.

“You should be wearing richer colors, deeper tones – think more eggplant than lavender, or more royal blue than powder blue. Here,” she holds her bright blue hand bag up to his arm, hand curling around his bicep to hold him in place. She’s showing him how the blue brings out the undertones in his skin but all he can focus is on is her touching his arm, her rounded nails just barely pressing into his skin.

Oh. Oh so  _this_  is what Thenvunin means when he grouses about Uthvir’s claws.

“Do you and Uthvir get your nails done together?” He asks before he can stop himself. She stalls, and cocks her head at him.

“No, from what I understand, Uthvir does their own nails, which really is a shame. Maybe I should get them and their sibling a gift certificate for the salon for Wintersend. What do you think? You see them more often than I do.”

It is  _really_  hard to think about Uthvir and Glory with her hand slipping down his arm like that. But he draws himself into his head and shakes his head.

“Well, Uthvir’s kinda weird about touch I think. I tried to hug them once, dude, don’t try hug Uthvir, their eyes do this really weird bug out thing and then they side step so you fall on your face.” He called Serahlin ‘dude’, shit!

“Oh no, Adannar you didn’t!” She holds a hand up to her face hide her laughter, but her eyes are shining and squinting and he can’t help but smile at that.

“Yeah, well, sib came in looking like they had a rough day and I wanted to make them feel better. I don’t get it, I’ve seen them and my bro hug or…whatever that was.”

“Yes but Thenvunin and Uthvir are involved. And some people don’t like hugs.”

“Now you’re talking crazy, sis. Hugs are amazing.”

“I’m not saying I’m one of those people, just that they exist, and you should respect their boundaries.” She says. He grins widely and takes a small step forward, hunching his back slightly as he opens his arms just a bit.

She isn’t one of those people?

“So you like hugs?” He would  _love_  to hug Serahlin. Maker knows she could use it after everything.

But she takes a step back and places a delicate hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Adannar, I…really appreciate it, and you, but I…need time. I need time to mourn a relationship, to feel angry and upset, to…work on actual schoolwork. You are a great guy but I just…can’t right now.” She looks away from him almost as if…she feels bad.

He takes a step back and tries to put on his most understanding face, “Okay. Could we still be friends?”

She turns back to him, eyebrows raised in surprise. She searches his face for sincerity, he thinks. Darris was always lying after all, saying shit lie after shit lie. He isn’t like that, he never wants to be like that, and he hopes that Serahlin knows that – even if they’re friends instead of more.

Her lips curl up into a genuine smile and she nods her head, “Friends, yes, I think I’d like that.”

“Cool!”

Tasallir reenters the foyer, changed into something that he says is more relaxed but it still involves a bow-tie. How is a bow-tie relaxed?

“Are you ready, Serahlin? If we hurry, we can still get our usual seat.” He says. Serahlin nods and turns to follow him out of the house. She turns just as she is about to leave and gives Adannar her most beautiful smile yet.

“I’ll see you later, Adannar. And you too, Flower!” And then she’s skipping down the steps, following his bro out to tea.

He stands in the foyer for a long time before turning to look down at his littlest sis.

“Friends, sis, isn’t that  _awesome_?” He says without a hint of sarcasm.

He’s practically insufferable the rest of the day, bugging his bros about his new friend Serahlin. And sure, he knows that he can be a bit much, but honestly, he couldn’t care less now. Serahlin is his friend, and that’s wonderful.

 

~

 

Dirthamen and Selene's first walk is very enjoyable. It is calm, and uneventful, but comfortable. They discuss their class loads and majors, recent events, and pop culture. Selene’s stomach grumbles towards the end, and Dirthamen offers to take her for lunch. She seems tempted for a minute, before politely declining.

“I think that might make this too much of a date,” she apologizes.

He supposes that is a fair point. He wonders briefly, why it is she seems uncomfortable with that particular style of relationship, but fears that asking would only chase her away. He had promised not to push her outside of what she felt she was comfortable with besides, and does not bring it up.

It is entirely possible that she simply does not find him attractive in that sense, and he concedes that that would also be a fair point. He is not the charismatic member of the family, after all.

 

Selene does permit him to walk her back to her apartment, however. She even permits him inside, while she shuffles through a box and pulls out a well-worn soft cover book. It is something about wizards and moving buildings that she thinks would appeal to him. In all honesty though, he thinks he would find anything she enjoyed appealing by merit of having something to discuss with her.

They exchange cell phone numbers, as a form of reliable communication. “In case you need anything, or just want to talk. I can’t respond at work, but I’ll always try to send you something when I get out.”

She is smiling when she says it.

She smiles quite often, but he finds it radiant each time.

He wonders if perhaps he should write another letter, given her positive response to the first.

 

He leaves after that, concerned with overstaying his welcome and not being permitted back. He is almost to the stairs when she catches up to him. Her face is flushed, and she is biting her lower lip, and he is trying not to focus on how they felt moving against his own.

She places them against his cheek, and then murmurs a quiet “Thank you for the walk,” before rushing back into her room and closing the door.

 

His cheeks feel very warm, now.

It is quite pleasant.

–

He does write her another letter. Several, in fact, and a few drawings.

None of them are ever given to her though. Instead, he keeps them in a box next to his computer, so as to not risk offending her. He values her friendship and does not want her to think he is pressuring her, or presuming their relationship will become anything other than what it is.

 

She was correct, he notices, in not having very much free time. He looks into her class schedule, and notices she is taking a six course load, rather than the average four. Additionally, she is a part of the schools work-study program, which gives her a minimum 40-hour work week to pay for her room and classes. Serahlin has also made her a regular part of her ‘group’, which means she is expected to make appearances at several social events throughout the week.

Dirthamen writes himself a note to ask Serahlin which ones he might also be permitted to attend. As a friend, of course.

 

His own schedule permits more flexibility, with his families status and his lack of social obligations. Although his Thursday nights are already a bit…busy.

Still, he moves his own study time to be earlier in the mornings, when he knows Selene will be working.

 

The first time he tries to greet her, she seems rather dazed. He wonders if perhaps he offended her in some way again, and keeps a polite distance. As the day draws on however, she noticably perks up, and he realizes that she must simply be tired in the mornings.

 

The next time, he brings her a coffee drink. He is unsure what her preferences are, so he asks the barista for whatever the most popular one is. He apologizes for not knowing when he hands it to her, and she just smiles again and tells him the thought was sweet.

It is an unusual compliment for him, but he trusts her judgment.

 

The third time, she asks him if he would like to join her for her lunch break. She has packed her own, and only requests his company.

He happily obliges.

 

It continues for several weeks, as he joins her for her lunch breaks and sometimes brings her coffees and escorts her to classes when it rains.

They exchange book and movie recommendations, and discuss them over texts. She will occasionally send him pictures of outfits Serahlin picks out for her with captions over them. He saves his favorites, but makes a point to ask for permission when he does.

It is quite nice to be friends.

–

His phone buzzes from its charging spot on his nightstand at 12:30am on a Tuesday.

 

→ What’s your opinion on magic?

It is from Selene.

 

← As a mage, I am generally for it. Why?

There is quiet for several minutes before his phone goes off again.

 

→ Did you have History of Circles with Prof Irving?

← Yes.

→ Please tell me you still have your notes

 

Dirthamen stands up then, and rifles through the old notebooks stacked in his closet

← I do.

→ Can you bring them over?

← I am on my way now.

–

Dirthamen knocks twice on the door of Selenes assigned room, notebook in hand.

She opens the door, and he is…not quite sure how to process it. She is not wearing anything particularly scandalous. Just a large grey shirt that reads ‘mathlete’ with a very short pair of black track shorts underneath. Her hair is what most would consider a mess even, piled loosely on top of her head, and the glasses she occasionally wears are crooked on her face.

He feels oddly enchanted by her appearance, still.

 

“OH, you’re a lifesaver, Dirthamen!” She exclaims as she takes the notebook from him “Come in, come in.”

He follows her, still a bit dazed and trying very hard to focus on something other than the amount of leg she is showing. He has seen legs before. Most of the men he lives with enjoy walking around in very short pants. He knows Thenvunin and Adannar in particular take very good care of their legs.

He thinks Selenes are still much more pleasing to look at, somehow.

He will have to put it in the next letter.

 

“- and there’s some tea in the cupboard if you want, or I’ve got coffee brewing, or I can make you something to eat if you’re hungry,”

Dirthamen blinks as he realizes she must have been speaking to him.

“I am not hungry. I would be amenable to some water, perhaps,” he swallows, still trying to focus on something more friend appropriate.

 

Selene nods and stretches up to take down a cup from the cupboard, some plastic thing he is fairly certain is from the local gas station and not designed to be kept for a long period of time, but the position elongates her legs in a way that makes his head temporarily short out. She hands him the cup, half filled with water and thanks him again for the notes.

 

“You’re welcome to stay a while, if you want,” she offers. “There’s a test tomorrow and I accidentally torched my notebook during Magic Management, so I’m going to be transcribing this if that’s alright with you.”

 

“That is fine. You may keep it even, if you’d like. I have no need for its contents any longer.” he manages.

 

“That’s very sweet,” she says with a smile “But I have a whole thing about the way I organize my information. Thank you, though. Do you want a book? Or I think I’ve still got Serahlins Netflix logged in on the TV if you wanna watch something.”

“That sounds fine. Thank you.”

 

Selene works on copying and re-copying his notebook then, and she occasionally pauses to ask him about notes he had written down that she did not. It does not take long for him to notice that she is struggling with the subject, and he is only half watching the sitcom playing anyway.

“You are Dalish, correct?” he ventures.

She pauses and looks up at him. “Yes,” she answers, hesitantly.

“You could opt out of Circle History you know. It is not a requirement if you can prove it goes against your beliefs. Your Vallaslin would be sufficient for that.”

 

Selene shakes her head “No, I have to take it. I’m going for a teaching degree, and my Advisor said they require all mages to take it for the 'safety of potential future students’.”

 

Dirthamen frowns a bit; he forgets sometimes that they are attending a school in Fereldan. He does not miss Tevinter often, but when he does it is usually because of prejudices towards mages.

“I see. My apologies for misunderstanding the situation then.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I can pass the information on to Elanna, in case she doesn’t know. I’m sure she’ll be happy to have one less requirement.”

Dirthamen nods then, and takes a sip from the water.

 

He tries not to watch her constant readjustments in her chair from the corner of his eye while the show plays on.

 

The next episode auto-plays and Selene is still struggling with memorizing something in the notes.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She lets out a heavy sigh “Yeah. I’m just no good at this. History isn’t really my strong point, and I started off behind where I was supposed to be. I keep mixing up my towers and terms.”

“I could assist you, if you wanted,”

She sits up then, glancing at him “Really?”

“Yes. History is one of my stronger subjects, and I would not mind spending the time with you, if it is not too bold to say.”

 

Selenes face tints a slight red, as well as the tips of her ears, but she nods “I would really appreciate that, actually. Is there anything I can do in return?”

He ponders her offer for a moment, but there is not much he wishes for that would be appropriate in this sort of context.

“No. It can simply be another facet of our friendship, if you would like.”

Her mouth scrunches up then, and moves to the side of her face “I don’t want you to think we are friends because I want something from you, Dirthamen.”

Something about her words gives him a burst of warmth in his chest and he attempts to give her a smile to ease her concern “I do not think that, Selene.”

 

Her eyes widen, and she swallows something he can not see as he wonders if perhaps he did not manage to smile correctly.

“Well…Alright then,” she allows, before hurriedly turning back to her notes.

 

Dirthamen is not sure at which point he must have fallen asleep, but he wakes in the morning sprawled comfortably on top of Selenes bed. Her blanket has been pulled over him, and there is a sticky note and key placed on top of his notebook.

_“Thanks for the help! Had to get to class. Please lock door behind you if you wake before I get back. Text me to set up a time if you’re still interested in the study thing?-Selene”_

 

He picks up the key and stares at it.

He will have to be sure to keep it safe.

 

~

 

Lunch is more crowded than usual today. In all fairness though, it’s an oddly late shift for Selene, so it’s really more of a dinner gathering.

Dirthamen is there, which is nice, because Selene actually invited him. ‘Squish’, as she asked to be called is there, which is also fine, Selene thinks she’s very nice. Melanadahl is there, which isn’t unusual, but it’s still awkward because he always makes it a point to try and exclude Dirthamen from any conversational topics he brings up, and it’s starting to grate on Selenes nerves more than a little.

Glory is also there.

Selene isn’t sure what to make of that. They don’t share any classes, she’s pretty sure, and they’re clearly not friends with Dirthamen. Their presence actually makes him nervous, she’s noticed now that she’s able to read him a little better.

It makes her nervous, too.

 

“Anyways,” Melanadahl continues, gossiping with Squish about his latest breakup “So then he’s all ‘if you loved me you’d let me do it’ and so I just walked right on out of that mess.”

“Gross. What an ass,” Squish agrees.

Selene takes a bite out of her peanut butter sandwich, and eyes the pair curiously. Once she’s swallowed, her curiosity gets the better of her “I don’t get it.”

 

The rest of the table turns to look at her and she tries to explain “Sorry. I guess- I thought if you cared that much about someone you were supposed to want to do whatever it took to make them happy?”

 

Glory’s eyes narrow slightly, “Who told you that?”

Selene tries not to flinch away, and realizes quickly that she must have misspoken “Uh. No one. I just-I think I read it somewhere? In a book. Or a magazine, maybe.”

“Well that was a shitty thing for them to say. Love’s supposed to go both ways. They won’t force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with if they actually care about you.”

They don’t leave any room for argument in their tone.

“Right. You’re right. Obviously.” Selene nods, and gives an awkward smile before going back to her sandwich.

She doesn’t speak again, and heads back to work when she’s finished with her food.

She only checks her phone once she’s clocked out.

 

_→ Is everything alright?_

From Dirthamen.

 

Selene hesitates. She doesn’t want to lie to him about it, and she’s pretty sure he’d see through it if she did. So she decides to ignore it for now.

She’ll shoot him a text before bed, and claim her battery died before she could respond.

 

It works on everyone else.

 

She heads back towards her apartment, but freezes when she sees Glory standing on the steps in front of her building.

“Hey there. Want to go for a walk?”

Selene glances around, trying to take stock of her surroundings. It’s late enough that no one else is paying attention to anyone but themselves or whoever they’re spending the night with, and Selene debates the consequences of running away. They know where she works, and apparently where she lives, so it’s not like it’s really an option, she thinks.

“I guess,” she responds, readjusting her bag over her shoulder and trying to look more confident than she feels.

 

They stride over to her, and Selene wonders for a moment how they manage to look so stunningly gorgeous and terrifying at once, but then they just keep walking.

 

There’s just silence, for a long time.

Selene tries not to squirm, but she’s still confused about this persons presence in her life to begin with.

“So. Read a lot of magazines?” They finally ask.

“No, not really.”

“You just randomly pick up problematic beliefs then?”

 

Selene stops walking, then. “Excuse me?”

Glory turns to face her “That thing in the cafeteria. You and Dirthamen have gotten pretty close. I get it. Look, if you don’t want to talk about it that’s totally cool. But if you need help getting out, Squish and I can get you there.”

 

Oh.

Oh hell no, Selene thinks.

“You 'get’ it? You don’t ’ _get_ ’ anything. You don’t know me, you don’t know  _him_ , and I’m not 'in’ anything. Whatever’s going on here is your problem, not mine.”

Glory tilts their head at her. Sighs. Steps closer so that they’re practically toe to toe, and then lifts their arm up high.

 

Selene flinches.

 

Glory drops their arm instantly, and rubs their hand down their face “Shit, kid. Alright, just. Talk to me then. You got an ex?”

“Most people do,” Selene evades, trying to call back the adrenaline she had before.

“Right. Sure. How long were you together?”

“We…I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Okay. Alright, that’s understandable. Hold on a sec,” They say, and dig an old card out of their wallet, scribbling a number on the back of it. They hand it over to Selene, who inspects it before eyeing them skeptically.

 

“A support group?”

“Squish recommended them. I went once, but it wasn’t my thing. Lot of 'forgiveness and letting go’ crap. Not my style. Might suit you, though. Either way, that’s my number on the back.”

“We barely know each other,” Selene points out, still more than a little uncomfortable.

“Doesn’t matter. If you need help, or decide you wanna talk about it, or if you’d rather go blow shit up, because I hear you can be a bit of a firecracker, shoot me a message. Someone’ll show up.”

 

Selene eyes the card again, glancing between it and the elf standing in front of her “I’ll keep it in mind,” she allows.

Glory nods “So long as it’s your choice. Want me to walk you back?”

“No,” Selene pauses “Thanks.”

“Sure. Don’t let it get around.” They wave, and head off in the opposite direction.

 

Selene stares at the card in her hand, and slides it into one of the empty slots in her wallet, then makes her way back to her room alone.

 

It’s a long time before she calls the number.


	9. The Birds and the Bees

Thenvunin likes dirty talk.

Provided that Uthvir’s careful with it, of course. There’s a line, they’ve worked out, though it’s not one they’re usually inclined to cross. Thenvunin’s not a fan of being degraded – understandably – and he doesn’t like ‘you know you want/like/need’ etc style lines. Uthvir is entirely on board with not going there themselves, though, so it lines up very nicely.

They’re in Thenvunin’s room when this becomes a slight issue, however. Uthvir’s got him all tied up like a present, with their condom-clad fingers working on lubing him up, and their hand curled around his cock as they whisper to him.

“You look so gorgeous, babe. I want to fuck you so badly. Watch your pretty cock bounce as I thrust into you,” they say. Thenvunin’s blush is already down to his chest, and his cock twitches and he  _gasps,_  which is really nice. But then he kicks out with his leg a little, stretching his ropes as he hits them in a light, reprimanding sort of way.

“Don’t  _say_  that! The birds will hear!” he protests.

Uthvir pauses. Knuckle deep inside of him, with their nails digging into his hip, and his cock flushed and leaking. Blankets on the floor, pillows strewn about, and bite marks on his hips and shoulders. His hair all fanned out and his arms all tied up. There’s a hickie on his inner thigh, and some cum drying on his stomach from the first time he came tonight.

Their lips twitch.

“The  _finches,_  Thenvunin?” they ask.

The bird cage is covered, as it always is when they get up things, and near as Uthvir can tell, the birds are  _asleep._

Thenvunin scowls, and opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

“I’m… used to having parrots…” he murmurs, and bites his lip; shifting his hips a bit, because Uthvir’s stopped, of course.

They give him an affectionate little squeeze, and curl their fingers. Watching as he bites his lip, and closes his eyes. In the part of their mind that’s not consumed with the hungry desire to fuck him completely senseless, they suppose they can see where dirty talk around parrots might be an issue. And then they think of Thenvunin’s past lovers, which gets them thinking about their past treatment of him; and suddenly Uthvir wonders what it would be like, to have beloved pets repeating words that were spoken in the midst of traumatizing incidents. Repeating the words of someone who had mistreated him.

They try and resume where they left off, and suddenly, they can’t. They can’t keep going with the  _‘I want to fuck you so badly’_  lines. Thenvunin seems to be getting back into the swing of things, as they stroke him and gently work their fingers inside of him, but their mouth feels dry and their throat feels thick.

Carefully, they pull their fingers out of him, and strip off the condom. They climb up the mattress, and curl a hand behind his neck, and kiss him. Something else. Something less… they’re not even sure.  Something one of his past lovers probably never said to him. They have to think about that, because most manipulative liars are also pretty good at compliments, when they need to be.

“You’re so good,” they whisper, at last. Their throat bobbing as they close a hand around his cock again. Leaning against him, nuzzling at his jaw. “You’re so good, Thenvunin. You’re like the first ray of daylight after a cold, dark night. You know that? You’re even more amazing than you look. I want to drink you all in. Sometimes I look at you and I just get so hungry for you. Not even for the sex, but just for  _you._ ”

Their heart skips a beat as they realize the implications of what they’re saying.

Thenvunin’s looking at them, wide-eyed and breathless, as they pull back a little. Brushing a hand across his cheek. It’s okay, they think. It’s okay, everyone says things in the heat of the moment, in the middle of sex.

“Can I have you, babe?” they ask, quietly.

Thenvunin comes.

They feel him spill across their hand, as his throat bobs and he tilts his head back, and to the side. They move their mouth to the open stretch of his neck, whispering approval and reassurance –  _so good, you’re so good, I love it when you come_  – and rocking themselves just a little bit against him. They’re so turned on, it’s ridiculous. But they wait, and run their hands down his body, and listen to his breaths even out a bit.

“Please,” Thenvunin asks.

They were angling more for permission than request – they know that requests are harder for him – so they don’t make him clarify much, as they pull back enough to slide a condom on. They only hesitate, as they rearrange him more comfortably, and then line themselves up with him.

“This?” they check.

He presses his ass back towards them.

“ _Uthvir_ ,” he breathes, and they take it as their cue, and let go. Sinking into him, as his breaths stutter and his hands flex, open and closed. They groan as they fit their way inside. Pressing close, holding onto the ropes with one hand and his hip with the other.

They go slow. Slow, and savouring, as they drag their way out and push their way in again. Mesmerized by the muscles of his back, and the delicious heat around their own cock. The press of his thighs against them; slick with sweat, and firm with muscle. Somehow the hand they have holding the ropes works its way down to his own, and their palm presses against his as they thrust. Listening to every hitch of breath, noting every twitch of his hips, until they find an angle and rhythm that has him moaning.

“Beautiful, Thenvunin,” they say. “You sound so beautiful.”

His breaths hitch.

Carefully, they start unwinding the ropes; keeping the same even, steady pace, as they pull apart their soft knots, and let his arms fall away from his back. Dragging the rope slowly across his skin as they pull it away, before they reach for his cock again.

He gasps, and tenses.

“No, I can’t – not again –“ he asks, and they withdraw, and pause. Pressing soothing strokes to his thighs again, until he sighs, and relaxes a little.

“It’s alright,” he says. “Just… too much.”

They hum in acknowledgement, and slip out of him; it doesn’t take much to finish themselves off with their hand, though. Especially not when Thenvunin rolls over, and reaches for them. Closing his own atop theirs, and matching their strokes until they come on his sheets. A shuddering, sparking warmth that leaves them languid, and tingling, and awash with that affectionate afterglow of theirs.

They press up against his side, and mouth at some of the bite marks they left.

Thenvunin is quiet, as he rests a hand against their lower back. After a few minutes, he tilts his head, and doesn’t kiss them so much as just sort of… rest his mouth against their forehead.

“Bumblebee,” he murmurs.

Uthvir pauses.

“What?” they ask.

“Nothing,” Thenvunin says. “Just thought of something somebody said.”

They raise an eyebrow at him.

“If this is some ‘birds and the bees’ joke, do share,” they ask; and are delightfully surprised when Thenvunin actually  _snickers._  After a few seconds the snickers work their way up into a full-bellied laugh, that’s as infectious as it is inexplicable. His arms close around them, and Uthvir blinks as he nuzzles them, and giggles like an idiot.

“Oh man,” he says. “I didn’t even  _think_  of that, signif. You are  _so_  my bee.”

Inexplicably, they feel a rush of pleasure.  _My_ bee, he says. So he’s the bird then? What even…?

Thenvunin’s eyes are very bright, and shiny.

“Let’s go get tacos,” he says.

Which, really, Uthvir supposes that at least makes  _sense._

They sigh and pat his shoulder.

If they wanted someone who made sense, though, they probably wouldn’t have approached him in the first place.

 

~

 

On the one hand, he can  _hear_  his mom’s soul just like, gasping in horror from where she’s vacationing in Antiva, as it senses that Thenvunin has gone and Mixed Too Many Colours again.

On the other hand, Thenvunin feels like a beautiful jungle bird that just flew through a rainbow. And his new tank really shows off his shoulders, and the trim line of his waist, and it’s a very breathable fabric.

He deliberates for a long time in front of the changing room mirror, before he goes and finds Aelynthi over in the petite section.

He holds up the shirt.

“Is this too colourful?” he asks.

Aelynthi doesn’t even look at the shirt.

“You want to buy it, Thenvunin. So just buy it,” he says. “If Tasallir throws another conniption just point out it’s not against dress codes and then tell him to shut up.”

“But what if it’s too colourful?” he worries.

Aelynthi sighs, and finally looks at the shirt. His facial expression does on odd contortion, through several degrees of difficult-to-pin-down reactions, before he reaches out and takes it from Thenvunin. The sparkles in the magenta segments catch the store lights as he unfolds it for full scrutiny.

He looks at Thenvunin.

“It’s not too colourful,” he says, sounding slightly strained.

Thenvunin smiles.

“Oh, good!” he says. Hopefully he won’t be  _too_  irresistible in it. Uthvir keeps ripping up his shirts, which is part of the reason why they needed to take this trip in the first place. If he looks too hot, he considers, he could lose this one, too.

But that’s probably a risk worth taking.

 

~

 

Uthvir finds out that the university has cleared a section of campus grounds for magical performance practices when Glory flings their work-out shirt at their face, grinning from ear to ear.

“Go put your dance socks on!” their older sibling says.

Uthvir sighs.

It’s not really that they  _dislike_  the dancing. Their mother enrolled them both in lessons when they were very young, and Uthvir had been extremely excited, as a five-year-old, to be able to learn how to ‘dance all pretty like Glo’. But the bloom hadn’t so much fallen off of that rose as been viciously torn apart by a dance instructor who, so far as Uthvir could tell, hated absolutely everything about them.

Magical dance performances were tricky to find good teachers for, though, so their mother had basically told them to just try and ignore being singled out and cast as the Wicked Apostate, the Shade, the Grim Beast, and the Darkspawn on various occasions. ‘You’re just really good at being the monster, that’s fun!’ Glory had enthused.

It was a perspective that had worked for them better than anything else, come to it.

But  _Glory_  loves the dancing, and it’s tricky to do without a partner. So Uthvir goes and puts on their reinforced socks and their work-out clothes, which are dark and form-fitting and generally lacking in their usual spikes, and follows Glory out to an open field that’s been cordoned off with some safety barricades, and marked with runes.

There are a few curious onlookers hanging around, clearly able to deduce that Something To Do With Magic is going to be happening in the area. A few other elves are already practising some things; magical instruments, and Uthvir thinks they spot Aelynthi doing something to a fountain at the far corner of the range.

Desire’s already staked out a spot for them, it seems, roping off a suitable are and playing Angry Birds on her phone until she sees them coming, and smiles. Glory walks straight to her and pulls her in for a kiss.

“For luck,” they breathe. 

Squish laughs.

“It’s not a performance,” she says. “I’m beginning to think you just like kissing me.”

“Mm. I do,” Glory admits. “But I like showing off for you, too. Want to find us an audience? Then it’s a performance after all.”

Desire winks, and takes a step back.

“I’m sure I can scrounge someone up,” she says, as Uthvir starts in on their stretches. They’re not really listening right now, though. They’ve got to focus, as ever, before they reach for their magic. Making certain they don’t take too much; don’t draw it in too quick, or betray Fear’s presence in any notable way.

The world might be a lot nicer to mages than it used to be, but there are still some things that are… less acceptable than others.

Glory is dressed in soft pinks and golds, and sets up the music for the two of them before launching into their own warm-ups. They cast a few glittering fire spells, which Uthvir puts out, while they discuss which routine to do.

“Birds of a Feather?” Glory suggests.

Uthvir raises an eyebrow.

“It’s been three years, let’s not try and get killed on our first outing again,” they reply. “Dawn’s Dance?”

“I want to let my wings out,” Glory counters. “War of the Winds?”

Uthvir considers. That’s much more simple than the feather dances. Most of the focus just on flight and coordinating with Glory, which shouldn’t be too hard. They nod, and then flex their shoulders before letting their wings out. It burns, just a bit. Like the snap of a giant elastic band against their back, before that cools, and they hear a  _whoosh_  and feel the odd straining rearrangement of the muscles around their spine. The magic compensating for what their shape can’t really support, as massive raptor wings fill the periphery of their vision.

Glory grins, and brings out a set of golden eagle wings. Much less mismatched than Uthvir’s own, and bigger, too. They curl the tips around and over Uthvir’s own.

“Baby sib,” they say.

Uthvir rolls their eyes, and flaps their own wings outwards. Chasing off the teasing.

“Are we going to dance, or did you want to go build a nest?” they counter.

Glory answers by extending their hand towards them, and Uthvir draws in a breath, before accepting.

Then they’re off.

The steps are harder than the magic, in the end. In the air it’s mostly just about not colliding, at this point. Or going higher than the radius of the containment field and violating campus regulations. On the ground, though, Uthvir has to remember not only how to move their legs and arms, but how to keep their wings in the right form, too. They’re glad the spellwork for this one is relatively simple, as they pass a disk of light between themselves and Glory; flapping their wings to push up, and botching a couple of spins before they get it right again.

Glory is almost flawless, in form. They land perfectly every time, and the only misstep Uthvir notices is when they almost over-balance themselves thanks to the weight of their wings and get whapped in the face with the light disk.

Still.

That’s a pretty  _epic_  misstep, so it makes Uthvir feel better about their own errors, as they glide and turn and flip, and manage to get three light disks going with Glory before the dance comes to halt.

Normally there would be seventeen; but, they’re rusty.

“Not bad,” Glory beams, panting, as they land in the victory’s stance. Uthvir, of course, takes the usual pose in the circle of defeat, with the lights arrayed around them like a prison.

They’re too short of breath to answer, so they settle for dispelling the disks and nodding. Pressing a hand to their knee as they straighten up.

By then, Glory’s looking at something behind them, though. Scowling. Uthvir raises an eyebrow, and turns, and sees that Desire really  _had_  drummed up a crowd. There’s a whole line of elves at the edge of the barricade, who start slowly clapping, to their surprise. They see the source of Glory’s likely displeasure - Dirthamen Evanuris is standing among the crowd; though he retreats, in short order.

But then their gaze lands on a familiar tall, fair-haired elf, and their own mouth goes dry.

Thenvunin is staring at them slack-jawed.

He… saw them, then. 

Uthvir glances over at Glory, who looks so much more impressive and pristine by contrast, with their bigger, brighter wings. Still locked in the victor’s stance.  _He said it wasn’t a competition,_  they remind themselves; and try to force back their unease, as their wings flutter, and Glory dispels their own.

“What was that Evanuris gawking at?” they mutter, before turning to go and, probably, find Desire.

Uthvir shrugs, and lets out a long breath. They turn back towards Thenvunin, and let their wings go before making their way over to where he’s still standing. Still looking like he just discovered the sun, or something. His mouth is a small ‘o’ and his eyes are  _wide_ , and there’s a reusable water bottle on the ground by his feet. Empty, with the cap off; but Uthvir recognizes the butterflies on it. They pick it up, and the cap, and carefully press it back into Thenvunin’s hands.

“Thenvunin? Are you alright?” they ask.

His mouth opens and closes a few times, before he manages to clear his throat. Then he tries to take a drink from his closed water bottle, and nearly shoves the cap into his nose. He lowers it again, hastily.

“I… didn’t know you could do that,” he finally says. Staring at Uthvir, and flushing.

They raise their eyebrows.

“Dance?” they ask. 

Thenvunin gestures, inscrutably.

“The - no. Yes. I mean, I didn’t know you could dance, but. With. Wings,” he manages.

“You know I’m a shapeshifter,” Uthvir feels compelled to point out. It’s been relevant, a fair few times.

“Yeah, but…” Thenvunin trails off. He opens and closes his mouth again a few times, and licks his lips. The colour still high on his cheeks, as he shifts awkwardly in place, and if Uthvir didn’t know any better they’d say he was…

… _Oh._

They glance around, at the dispersing onlookers and the other distracting displays of magic going on further afield, and then will their wings back. Thenvunin’s eyes go wide as he looks them over. Tracing the length of the primaries and secondaries, before trailing back towards Uthvir; who obligingly turns, and gives them a gently flick; casting a breeze over Thenvunin, and showing him where the spell-worked limbs attach to their back.

“Like them?” they ask.

“They’re hawk wings,” Thenvunin says. “I mean. They look like it, anyway. Big ones. Absolutely gorgeous. The only other kinds of spell-made wings I’ve seen have been all… wispy. I mean they were beautiful, but they didn’t look like bird wings, they looked more like something made out of light and dust. Just for show. Or else they were in a movie, but I always thought that was more to do with special effects…”

Uthvir shrugs. Brushing Thenvunin with their wing is actually more of an incidental thing, as they forget to compensate for the motion. But he looks a little enthralled with it; stilling, and then reaching out and brushing a hand just gently across their feathers. He really means it; he thinks their drab brown wings are  _gorgeous._

They consider things for a moment, before extending a hand towards him.

“Care to dance?” they offer. “The Wintersend ball is a few months off. It could be good to practice.”

Thenvunin looks at their hand, and then glances down at himself.

“I’m not a mage,” he says. “And I’m in my cargos.”

Uthvir snorts.

“And I’m in spandex, babe. It’s okay. I know you’re not a mage; I’ll look after you,” they promise.

Thenvunin’s blush intensifies. He darts a gaze around, but there’s no one left near enough to overhear.

After a few seconds, then, he reaches out, and takes their hand.

“I’d love to dance,” he says.

Uthvir smiles, and helps him over the barricade, and onto the field.

They keep it simple. Tugging him onto the most even patch of ground, and then starting up the steps to a simple dance - a modified version of Empire’s Prosperity without as much flying, but that one’s meant to be between an earth-bound elf and a spirit, so Uthvir just has to tone down their own parts - and coax Thenvunin into following after them. He’s clearly had  _some_  dance training, as he picks it up well enough.

Their wings turn around the two of them, and Thenvunin’s eyes follow them, as Uthvir practices coordinating with them again. They feel so rusty, even after the round with Glory.

“It’s harder with solid wings,” they explain, after they almost thwap Thenvunin for a second time in the middle of a turn. “Most of the kind you described, the wisp-y kind, are easier. If you put a hand through them or hit your partner, it just tingles. They’re just a spell, in the end. But hitting the shape-shifted kind  _hurts.”_

They bite back a wince of recalled pain, from a few disastrous errors in the past. 

Thenvunin’s steps slow down a little.

“Does it hurt to move them?” he wonders. “They look very heavy.”

Uthvir curls a wing in, and brushes his shoulder.

“No,” they assure him. “I mean, it  _would_ , if I just had them sprouting out of my back like this. But that’s where the magic really comes into play. I’m using a lifting spell right now. It’s very simple; doesn’t take a lot of attention for me, anymore. But the first year of practice involves figuring out how to weave it in with the shapeshifting, so you can move without risking spinal damage.”

“Spinal damage?” Thenvunin asks, eyes wide. “Your parents let you risk  _spinal damage_  as a child?!”

Uthvir gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Of course not, Thenvunin. That’s why we had  _lessons._  So we  _wouldn’t_  risk spinal damage. Mamae’s line has always had a talent for shape-shifting. She used it a lot in her performances,” they explain. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, it’s much more dangerous. So, when Glory started sprouting wings and tails and things, we got dance lessons.”

Thenvunin is quiet for a few minutes, then, as they turn and twist, and lift off a few times to circle around him. Using his grip as an anchor point, while he stares and stares at their wings, and at their face, and at their wings again. When they touch down and pull him into a dip, he goes easily; gripping their shoulders and flushing as his hair brushes the grasp, and Uthvir grins down at him.

“You’re a good partner,” they commend. And he is; he hasn’t tried to grab their wings or stepped on their feet or anything. They tighten their grip on him, just a little bit; letting their nails press through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you,” Thenvunin says, a little faintly.

They pull him back up onto his feet, and decide to give him the full, flourishing acknowledgement; dropping into a proper bow, and then grasping his fingers. Politeness indicates a kiss to the back of the hand. Uthvir turns his wrist so that it is palm-up, and presses their lips against his pulse point, instead. The gesture for lovers.

They wonder if he knows the distinction.

“ _Uthvir,”_  Thenvunin breathes. They look up at his flushed face, as he shifts on his feet, and licks his lips.

“Hmm?” they ask.

His gaze darts around the field.

“Can we - can we go…?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. They assess their surroundings themselves, before inclining their head. Their own blood is fairly thrumming, and the air cracks as they dispel their wings again. Reverting to an easier shape, and closing a possessive hand around Thenvunin’s waist. They let their finger dip just slightly below his waistband, as they lead him back off of the field.

“Where did you want go? Anywhere in particular? I do have classes to get to,” they say, lightly. Tracing a finger towards Thenvunin’s navel.

He makes a faint choking noise.

“Signif!”

“Yes, babe?”

Thenvunin huffs, and closes an arm around them. He leans in close. Blushing so hard that they can actually feel the heat radiating off of his skin, as his lips nearly kiss the shell of their ear.

“I’m about two seconds away from coming in my cargos, and you haven’t even put a hand on me. I’m so hot for you right now I can’t even  _think._  So stop playing coy and take me home and fuck me.”

Uthvir’s mind blanks as every ounce of blood in their body rushes fiercely and abruptly southward. They dig their nails into Thenvunin’s stomach a little without even thinking about it, and he gasps against their temple, as his hips twitch. A quick glance around reveals no one close by; Uthvir turns, abruptly, and pulls Thenvunin in towards a nearby copse of trees, and pins him against one. Thrusting their thigh between his legs and pressing flush against his chest, biting down at the side of his neck just hard enough to draw a droplet of blood. They pointedly keep their hands out of his pants as they grip his hips, and suck on the bite mark. Using just enough magic to get his blood singing, to echo the sensation of their mouth down across his body until he bites back a scream, and comes in his pants. Clutching their shirt and panting, straining against and into their hold.

“I actually do have a class,” they whisper to him.

Which is less of an erotic admission than they might hope to make, right now.

Thenvunin blinks at them, dazed.

“What?” he asks.

They kiss his neck, and pull back a little apologetically.

“Can you wait until tonight?” they request. “I’ll stop by the House, and we can do things properly, then. Take our time.”

Thenvunin makes a broken little noise of protest.

But then he lets out a long sigh, and relents.

“You’re gonna kill me with this stuff,” he mutters, squirming a little uncomfortably, now. Uthvir moves back, and feels their own pulse still hammering in their veins. It’s going to be a long day.

“If you want, we could do it with my wings out,” they suggest, lifting their brows.

Thenvunin’s face flames so hard, he actually lifts his hands up and covers it.

Uthvir snickers. Oh, they love discovering this man’s kinks. It’s amazing. He has  _so many._

“You’re so savage!” he protests, in a tiny, breathless voice.

They pull him gently back towards the path; kissing his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist again, as they hum in agreement.

“Somehow I think you’ll forgive me.”

 

~

 

Thenvunin has been on campus for long enough to be slightly wary of the phrase ‘hey, wanna see something cool?’

But not long enough that he doesn’t generally still fall for it. Because, really, a lot of very interesting things  _do_  happen on campus. In this case he thinks he can be forgiven for just readily agreeing, and going with a few other nearby students towards the area that’s been cordoned off for magic practice. It’s been cordoned off for  _magic practice,_  after all; so he’s guaranteed at least a good light show, and obviously there are lots of safeties and protections in place.

And then all thoughts of ‘light shows’ and the inadvisability in following strangers off to strange places  _die._  Violently. Aggressively. Because ‘something cool’ is Uthvir.

Uthvir and another elf, whom Thenvunin dimly registers as Glory, are dancing. But more than that, they are dancing with  _wings._

Not light wings. Not costume wings. Real, fluttering, feathered wings, that are sprouting from their backs in a manner Thenvunin has scarcely seen outside of high-budget films and watercolour illustrations. Glory’s wings are vast and bright and look more in-keeping with concepts of magic, he thinks. There is no way a figure so small should be able to stand and move with a wingspan so large. And their golden feathers shine in such a way that they  _look_  magical.

Thenvunin has seen magical wings before.

But Uthvir…

Uthvir does not look magical.

Uthvir looks  _real._

Uthvir looks like a hawk who has just taken on an elven body, and seen no reason to do away with the gift of flight in the process. Their wings are small, more proportionate, but still impressive in span. They are warm brown, almost reddish in the darker portions, and lighter in others. A raptor’s wings, to be sure. They fan and flare, and Thenvunin watches, breathless, as Uthvir’s sharp eyes focus on their partner and their movements flow in a dance of wings and magic. Light disks and whirls and impressive acrobatics that put the lines of their body on display.

They are in tight, dark clothing, that leaves very little to the imagination; their wings fan out around them, and Thenvunin feels stricken. Amazed. Almost a little betrayed at the world, because why didn’t he know about Uthvir sooner? He feels like he should have gotten some kind of warning. Like there should have been some courteous message delivered to him, when he was young and lost and everything felt bleak.

_One day, you will meet Uthvir. Don’t really bother with anyone else until then._

_This is the one worth waiting for._

He lets out a breath, as Uthvir finally lands, and quietly tucks that line of thinking away. Because he doesn’t really think he’s ready for it. That either of them are. But the amazement lingers, deep and resonating, and it comes with… other feelings, too.

Feelings that grow exponentially as Uthvir approaches him. He can’t help it now, he thinks. Even when they put the wings away, he sees them, in a sense. He sees them like a soft, invisible mantle, crowding their wake. Like a part of them that had always been there, but just… hiding. Beautiful.

Beautiful, hidden Uthvir.

 

~

 

Uthvir isn’t a fool, of course. They keep one eye on the resident Evanuris in Thenvunin’s vicinity, for a while.

Nothing overt, or particularly anxious, though. They had a few encounters with Dirthamen back in highschool. He always struck them as withdrawn, possibly even cowardly, but if nothing else, lacking in aggressive or overtly manipulative traits. And they remember walking in on a scene of him getting hit by his brother. The  _smack_  of a fist on flesh, and Dirthamen just standing there and taking it, before Uthvir ducked down a different hall and hurried away.

At the time, they’d mostly just been glad to avoid drawing Falon’Din’s notice. But with adulthood, and the gift of hindsight, they don’t suppose Dirthamen fared any better under his brother’s attentions than anyone else did. And Andruil always talked about him like he was some afterthought to Falon’Din; an accessory, an accompaniment.

A shadow.

Uthvir stops watching Dirthamen before long. They’re fairly certain he doesn’t have any nefarious schemes or intentions hiding up his sleeves. Come to it, he  _barely_  seems to know how to talk to people.

But they’re still a little wary, the first time he outright approaches them.

Wintersend is coming up. Uthvir’s taking Thenvunin, of course. They’re looking forward to finding out what Thenvunin will end up wearing. Based off of his comments they’ve gathered that he’d like to go in a gown, but that he also thinks he’ll get flak for that from some of the other fraternities and that it will ‘hurt his image’. Uthvir’s already offered the obligatory ‘you will look stunning in whatever you pick’ and ‘if anyone makes you feel bad I’ll gouge their eyes out’ reassurances, but those can only go so far.

They’re thinking they might take him out again afterwards, if he needs it. There are some fancy Tevene restaurants in the city that don’t harbour any odd ideas about skirts and gender, they could probably take him to one of those with less fuss. Let him wear whatever he wants, and then take it off of him afterwards.

Not that he’d look bad in a suit, though. They’re musing on the possibilities there, and looking after Thenvunin’s finches in the main room while he takes a much-needed nap, when Dirthamen approaches them.

Flower is helping to watch the finches. She looks up at him and gives her happy ‘hello’ bark, before she goes back to staring at the cage, and slowly wagging her tail every time a bird chirps.

“Uthvir,” Dirthamen greets.

Uthvir nods at him, sitting up a little more, and folding their arms.

They wait.

“I wish to… that is, I saw you a few days ago, with your sibling. Dancing,” he asserts. “Thenvunin says you danced with him afterwards as well. I did not realize that there were such dances that included unshifted or even non-mage partners. My own instructor taught only myself and my brother, and made no mention of such dances.”

Uthvir raises an eyebrow, and glances at the finches, as one flutters up towards a higher point in their cage. They’re very talkative today; hence their needing a babysitter. Chirping and tweeting, and hopping over to the front of the cage to drop the occasional seed towards Flower.

Who is learning not to eat things without permission, and dutifully sniffs the seeds, but doesn’t gobble them up.

Uthvir gives her head an approving pat.

“I didn’t realize you danced in such a fashion at all,” they reply.

“It was considered a necessary diversion,” Dirthamen says. “My brother did not care for it, but he was very talented at it, just the same. I showed less aptitude, and so was generally given the secondary or adversarial roles.”

Well.

Uthvir knows that story.

“And you want to know how to dance in that style with someone who has no training in it?” they surmise. There’s an obvious possibility there, given all of the latest rumours and gossip, and what’s been setting Glory into a tizzy, too. “Selene?”

Dirthamen shifts on his feet.

“I am accompanying Selene to the Wintersend Ball. There is often space and allowance for creative forms of dance at that event. I do not know if she would have an interest yet, but I cannot make the suggestion if I am incapable of managing the task. So I was wondering if you would be willing to show me the dance which you and Thenvunin performed,” he reasons.

Uthvir gives it a moment, and examines the Evanuris for any signs of guile or duplicity. Fear perks up a little, and does its part. Gathering faint impressions, but there’s nothing of real concern in any of them that they can see. Just an awkward mage trying to figure out how to use his talents to impress someone he likes.

“And what do I get in return, if I show you?” they wonder. Dealing with members of this family is dangerous; doing them favours, however, can be even moreso. They’re like genies, Uthvir thinks. You have to make certain you get the words exactly right, or else all your wishes and dealings will turn to fire and dust.

“I could pay you?” Dirthamen suggests. “I know the usual rates for such lessons.”

Simple enough, they suppose. And they could always use more of their own money; their mother trusts most of the funds to Glory, who isn’t stingy, but  _is_  nosy.

Maybe they could buy Thenvunin some jewellery to go with his suit, if he ends up wearing one. Make him feel like he’s still dressed to the nines, even without swaths of fabric fluttering behind him. They know a few students with Etsy stores who’d appreciate the business, too.

“Alright,” they agree. “When did you want to do it?”

Dirthamen’s posture relaxes, just slightly, and they begin to go over both of their schedules, to work out a suitable time and place.

~

In the end, Dirthamen books the use of a studio for them well away from campus grounds. The cordoned off sections which had been made available to students for a brief window of time have since been closed. Uthvir deliberates, but eventually ends up telling Thenvunin who they’re with and where they’re going in case they end up dead in a ditch somewhere. It seems less likely to end in  _unnecessary_  murder and mayhem than trying to tell Glory or Squish that they plan to let an Evanuris get them somewhere remote and private for several hours in the dead of night.

Thenvunin just thinks it’s nice that they’re willing to help a bro out.

And also wants to come along. But Uthvir’s pretty sure that Dirthamen doesn’t need any more audience than is strictly necessary, so they turn him down on that front for now, and simply make their way with Dirthamen to the reserved studio. It’s a good space; open enough for what they need, and warded sufficiently for this kind of dance. Uthvir has Dirthamen take up the wingless position first, and goes over the basic choreography, before pulling out their wings and launching into it with him. Guiding him along, just like Thenvunin, or the new students they used to be assigned to in class.

Dirthamen is a good, steady partner. His movements are economical, and he focuses carefully on them as they demonstrate and explain. The first round goes very smoothly.

Then they switch.

Dirthamen brings out his own wings. They’re about as big as Glory’s, and dark. Inky-black and smooth, almost more like liquid than feathers. Like a dark converse to Glory’s bright, eagle wings. Shadowy raven ones. For a moment, Uthvir feels intensely self-conscious of their own plainer appendages. It seems that even as a  _shadow,_  they left something to be desired. But they force the errant thought away, along with their own wings.

They’re here to make money, not comparisons.

“Alright. Keep it simple,” they advise, and take Dirthamen’s hand to start him off.

The second segment proves far less promising than the first. Uthvir almost regrets their initial advice; Dirthamen is much, much too tentative, and over-thinks his movements excessively. They’re almost surprised that he’s had previous instruction. But he knows forms and how to move, for the most part. He just can’t innovate very well, or at least, he’s too uncomfortable to try. Uthvir manages to startle him into the air a couple of times, but for the most part, he keeps coming back down and keeping his wings back. Confusedly trying to turn the movements into a more traditional dance, or else backing away and withdrawing.

After a few rounds of this, Uthvir has them switch back, and tries to be more demonstrative and explicit in their explanations. By the end of the evening, though, they can tell that they’re going to have to come back a few times if Dirthamen is going to do anything other than show off his wings and then awkwardly waltz with Selene.

“When did you start lessons?” Uthvir wonders, as they pack up their things.

“We were six,” Dirthamen replies. They blink, and then recall – right. Twins. For some reason they keep thinking Dirthamen was a year or two younger, or something. Which makes no sense, because that’s Andruil’s age, and so far as Uthvir knows, they have all the same parents.

Dirthamen as  _Andruil’s_  twin seems even more incongruous, somehow.

“How long has it been since you practiced?” they ask, and then all at once realize the likely answer.

Dirthamen shrugs.

Ah. Right. Probably not since…

Uthvir wonders if they should feel guilty. It feels more surreal than anything, though. Dirthamen looks like Falon’Din, but not remarkably so. He’s almost like a mirror reverse image of his brother, in fact. Dark where Falon’Din had been light, light where Falon’Din had been dark… they let out a breath, and settle their hands onto their hips.

“You’re terrible,” they say. “We’ll have to come back, if you’re still interested in pursuing this.”

Dirthamen considers, for a moment. But he doesn’t lose his temper. He doesn’t even seem hurt, or offended at all. He just nods in agreement.

“There should be time. I can afford to keep the studio booked, and pay the same rate for further instruction,” he decides. “One dance should be sufficient, for now. I would like to accomplish this, I think. Thenvunin seemed quite taken with your approach…”

Uthvir raises an eyebrow. Their smirk is, perhaps, a little softer than usual.

“Selene might not be the same,” they point out.

“She might not,” Dirthamen concedes. But it’s with the air of someone who really hopes they’ve stumbled upon something that might just work.

Uthvir shrugs, and lets it be. They can manage a few more lessons, they think, without Glory starting to get suspicious. And that would be enough money to buy Thenvunin a few suitable gifts,  _and_  pay for a very nice dinner with him, too.

They shake on it, and head back. Turning the matter over in their mind a few times. They might have more success if they had someone else, too. Someone who could stand in for Selene – which is, admittedly, the easiest part – while Uthvir helped Dirthamen. It might be especially good if they had someone with a low level of experience. They’re not certain if Selene’s had any dance lessons, but given that she’s Dalish and attending on work programs and scholarships, they’re going to guess not. Probably wiser to err on the side of caution, anyway.

Thenvunin could do it. But then they think of Dirthamen’s magical, midnight wings, and…

Thenvunin’s busy, anyway. And Uthvir wants to surprise him with some presents. He might extrapolate some things based off of the lessons even existing, or going on for so long. That wouldn’t do. Besides which, Thenvunin would be distracting for them. So he’s out. Squish and Glory are also out of the question, for obvious reasons. Maybe Dirthamen knows someone?

…Or maybe not.

Anyone who helped should probably get some of the payment, they suppose. Who needs money? There’s that girl. Ana. She works hard; though Uthvir wonders if she would have the time. They resolve to ask they next time they see her. Between their schedules and Dirthamen’s, it’s going to be a few days before their next meet-up.

They stop by the House the next day. Thenvunin is attempting to cook dinner for himself and Vena, and a few others. Not Ana, though, unfortunately. Uthvir has a class with her the next day, though, so they suppose they can ask her there. And in the meantime, they can enjoy the sight of Thenvunin in a peacock-themed apron, carefully following the instructions on the backs of several boxes to produce a meal comprised, amusingly, of scalloped potatoes, instant mac-and-cheese, and rehydrated spicy noodles.

“Bro,” Vena says. “…Is this like awkward unhealthy vegetarian night…?”

Tasallir emerges from the wings, and almost immediately turns around and starts dialling a number on his phone.

“It’s what we had in the kitchen!” Thenvunin protests.

The food looks like the pictures on the boxes, anyway. Uthvir shrugs, and grabs a plate for themselves. They doubt anyone else will be eating a lot of it, Tasallir’s probably calling for delivery right now, and they’ve got a vacuum-sealed packet of homemade jerky back in their room if they need it.

“Too many starches, bro,” Vena is insisting.

“Well there wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been eating  _handfuls of bacon_  for lunch!”

“How would bacon make this meal better?” Tasallir sniffs.

“Bro. Bro,  _no,_  bacon makes  _everything_  better!” Vena insists.

Uthvir helps themselves to the mac-and-cheese and the other, differently flavoured noodles. Scalloped potatoes are generally disgusting, but they take a tiny spoonful of those, too. Because of reasons. They hurried eat those first, and they’re not… as bad as some which Uthvir has had before, they think. Chasing them down with half a water bottle, and then trying the others, which are bland but still entirely edible. Way better than their mother’s few attempts at domesticity. Or Glory’s. Or Squish’s, actually.

Uthvir can cook. It’s all good, no one starves.

Thenvunin slumps down beside them on the couch. Then he glances over at their plate. His cheeks pink, a little.

“You don’t have to eat that,” he says, shifting around awkwardly.

Uthvir shrugs.

“I’m hungry,” they reply. “Thanks for making food. It’s good.”

“See!” Thenvunin snaps back towards Vena. “It’s perfectly fine, bro, you’re all just too picky! Potatoes are healthy, I read an article about it!”

Vena raises his hands, while Tasallir just looks coldly disdainful of the empty boxes still lining the counter. Thenvunin scoops himself up a bowl of mac-and-cheese, and Uthvir opts not to mention that dehydrated potatoes and whatever the good people at Fereldan Instant Dinners are trying to pass off as ‘cheese’ probably don’t count for much in terms of nutritional value. Instead they just bump his shoulder and start an argument about what to watch on the X-Box, until the doorbell rings.

Then Vena launches into some kind of bizarre ritual with Tasallir, whereby Tasallir goes to get it, and Vena ends up distracting him somehow, and paying the delivery guy, and then Tasallir pretends like he didn’t know that was a blatant distraction tactic – Uthvir’s going to go ahead and call bullshit on that, Venavismi is not a subtle man – and gets all offended at Vena for paying, and Vena says that this just gives him an excuse to share, even though Tasallir would have to eat like a starving wolverine to get through even half of the order of cartons and foil packages that are in the massive brown paper bag left behind.

Adannar emerges from somewhere at that point, and goes to fill up Flower’s food dish.

“Ooh, take-away! Thanks, Vena,” he says.

“Taz ordered it,” Vena replies, and starts setting it out, while Thenvunin scowls and defiantly sticks his fork into the mac-and-cheese.

Uthvir polishes off their own plate, and watches Thenvunin dejectedly move macaroni noodles around.

“Want to go out?” they ask him.

“No,” he says. “We’re watching Netflix. We’re doing Netflix and chill.”

Vena snorts, and Adannar does a double-take.

Uthvir raises an eyebrow.

“You know that’s a euphemism for sex, right?” they ask. Because that’s uncommonly brazen of him, especially out loud and right in front of his friends.

Thenvunin stares.

“What?” he asks. “No! Why would it – sig, c’mon, not everything’s about  _sex_ , my bros are  _right there-“_

“I’m not making it up, babe, I promise. That’s what it means.”

“That can’t be right. Why would you even use that as a euphemism? What if someone actually just wanted to watch Netflix and chill, what would you even say?” Thenvunin asks, aghast.

“ _Thank you!”_  Tasallir exclaims, much to Uthvir’s surprise. But then he just turns back to his frankly delicious-smelling take-away, while Thenvunin turns and flings an arm over the back of the couch, and gestures at the others.

“Bros, come on, back me up here!” he asks.

“Can’t do,” Vena offers.

“Yeah. Sorry, Thenvunin,” Adannar throws in. “It’s definitely a euphemism. Kind of a well-known one at this point, too.”

Thenvunin’s face flushes even harder, and Vena snickers.

“It’s okay, bro. We know what you meant,” he offers.

“Though if you want…” Uthvir says, and grins as Thenvunin whips around and fixes them with what he probably hopes is a quelling look. He’s really too flustered for it, though, and instead it comes off a little wild around the edges. After a few seconds, he throws up his hands.

“Well now I can’t enjoy it!” he says. “Get your coat, signif, we’re going out to hang instead.”

“If you insist, babe,” they reply, still unrepentantly grinning at him. They reach over and pluck at the side of the apron to remind him to take it off before they go, and he bats their hand away, provoking a few snickers as he promptly strips it off himself. They end up having to wait for him to refill the food dispensers of his finches, though, and then of course he has to explain to them where he’s going and tell them to be good birds and all.

It’s cute.

Then they finally get out of the door and pile into his car. A few snowflakes drift down, and Uthvir glances at Thenvunin’s sneakers.

“You need boots,” they opine.

“It’s cool,” he insists. “The last storm was a fluke, anyway. Weather reports said so.”

Uthvir glances at him.

“You hate boots,” they surmise.

Thenvunin hesitates, and then shrugs.

“They never fit my calves. I’m getting a custom pair sent but I didn’t think I’d need them, so, it’s taking a while,” he admits. “I tried a pair on from the human section of a Fashion Depot but the soles just  _killed_  my arches, sig. It’s like, how do humans stand it? Their feet don’t look that different. And dwarves, too. I don’t get it. Vashoth make decent shoes but then it’s the opposite problem, plus like nobody around here sells them or if they  _do_ , it’s always in the ‘standard’ sizes and I’m a big dude but I’m not  _that_  big. I asked Serahlin if she could ask some of her sorority contacts if anyone knows a good work-around but she hasn’t gotten back to me yet. It was only a couple of days ago, though,” he says.

“I could make you some,” Uthvir offers.

Thenvunin blinks.

“…What?” he asks, like he thinks he must have heard wrong.

It’s not quite jewellery, they suppose, but they can get the supplies pretty cheap and still have plenty leftover for more frivolous things.

“I make my own boots,” they explain. “Like you said, it’s hell to find good elven footwear. Do you want a pair? I don’t know how long it’d take, but if you give me your measurements I can do my best.” They could rush it, they think. Pull a few all-nighters. It’s not that hard and Fear kind of shuts up a bit when they’re sleep-deprived anyway.

Thenvunin glances down at their feet, before looking back at the road.

“…Do you know how to make them without spikes?” he wonders.

Uthvir snickers.

“Yeah, babe,” they say. “I can make ‘em without spikes.”

That more or less settles things, then. Uthvir starts tallying up a mental list of things they’ll need, and asks a few questions about what kinds of colours Thenvunin might like. Unsurprisingly, this ends up being ‘plenty’. They don’t think they’re quite wrathful enough to do tie-dye rainbow sparkle boots, though. And they think even Thenvunin might draw the line somewhere.

Presumably.

The conversation turns back towards food when Thenvunin ends up driving them to one of his favourite restaurants, and they agree to split the bill. Ess’ bar serves a really good spread, considering it’s also really top notch on the alcohol, too.

“So what was with the ‘I-pay-you-pay’ song and dance with Tasallir and Venavismi?” they wonder, after they’ve placed their orders.

Thenvunin blinks, and then shrugs.

“Oh. That. I dunno, I think Tasallir’s been having money troubles or something,” he reasons.

Uthvir raises their eyebrows.

“Really?” they wonder. Well that’s… interesting.

Thenvunin shrugs again.

“He doesn’t really confide in me, sig. But it’s a new thing, and Vena’s been pretty adamant on it, and they’re not dating or anything. So. Stands to reason, I mean, unless they  _are_  dating, but I think I’d notice if they were. Plus Tasallir did that whole Ace Awareness thing, and he says he’s not into romance? So I guess they wouldn’t be doing anything with… y’know. Exchanging favours, and stuff.”

Uthvir swallows, as Thenvunin shuffles a bit and takes a sudden interest in the drinks menu. Right. This stuff again. They haven’t really… talked about it, they suppose.

They probably should.

Since they’re actually dating now, and everything.

How to do it, though? They resist the urge to tap their nails against the tabletop, and look out one of the windows instead. It’s dark enough that they can’t see much, except for the steadily gathering bits of snow along the sill. There are some framed paintings on the wall alongside it. Student art. No real theme, it seems, except for ‘a lot of it’. They spy some price tags on the bottom, and realize that the paintings must be for sale on consignment or something.

Huh.

They wonder if Aelynthi knows about that.

_You’re changing the subject to avoid it, just so you know._

They let out a breath, and run a hand through their hair.

“Sex doesn’t work on a barter system. You know that, right, babe?” they say, as gently as they can.

Thenvunin blinks at them, and then his cheeks colour and he glances around at the bar.

“Signif,” he protests.

“No one can hear,” they promise him. “I’m just saying. Whoever told you that, that paying for a meal or being able to lift more, or being older or more experienced or whatever… whoever told you that stuff was a lying sack of shit, and if I ever get my hands on them I’m going to tear them a new asshole and then shove their own fucking head-“

They swallow, biting back what has swiftly turned from gentle reassurance into a wrathful tirade, and make themselves count slowly backwards from ten.

Thenvunin looks a little taken aback.

“Calm down!” he says, lowly. “Uthvir. C’mon. What the hell? Everybody knows that stuff.”

Uthvir’s retort is cut off, then, by the arrival of their server with a tray full of hot food.

Which is probably a good thing, because they don’t think their immediate, unconsidered response of ‘no, your ex – or possibly many exes – just happened to be  _shit’_  would really help get this conversation back on track.

Because the track is not how angry this makes them, they remind themselves.

It’s what it’s done to Thenvunin.

They’re quiet for a minute, as Thenvunin looks like he’s dearly hoping the conversation will be done now, and glances uncertainly out at the restaurant before taking a bite from his burger. Uthvir sucks in a long breath, and lets it out through their mouth.

“That ‘stuff’ is what  _scumbags_  say to coerce people into doing stuff they’re not comfortable with or into,” they finally settle on. Baby steps. Thenvunin’s looking like he wants to be anywhere but here right now, and that’s not the point. They take in another breath, and try to unclench.

“Not all relationships are the same,” Thenvunin says, quietly.

“…No,” Uthvir agrees.  _Some of them are bad._  “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m not mad at you or anything, that wasn’t what I meant. Let’s change the subject,” they suggest.

Thenvunin nods, and despite himself, it seems, looks almost painfully relieved.

~

It’s around nine o’clock by the time they get back to the House. Thenvunin invites them over for the night, and then frets about covering up his finch cage. Uthvir passes Adannar sitting on the couch, the leftover scalloped potatoes in his lap and a fork in his hand as he watches some rowing contest or another on the television. Flower woofs a hello and comes over to sniff at them, and then goes back to trying to convince Adannar that scalloped potatoes are totally puppy-safe food.

Most everyone seems to have either gone out or taken to their rooms. They pass by Tasallir’s, discreetly, and note that the door’s open a crack; and the elf in question is sitting at his desk.

They knock at it.

There’s a pause, and some shuffling. Tasallir comes to the doorway, and then stares down at them in surprise.

“Uthvir,” he correctly identifies. Then he glances down the hallway, as if Uthvir is a stray pet or lost child and he’s attempting to locate their Responsible Adult.

They fold their arms.

“A little bird told me you were in need of cash,” they say.

Tasallir frowns, and takes a wary step back.

“Who?” he asks. Then he shakes his head. “Nevermind. It was Venavismi, wasn’t it? I’m not in  _desperate_  need, no matter what he might have implied. He’s being melodramatic…”

Uthvir raises a forestalling hand.

“It’s nothing untoward, Tasallir,” they say, and are a little surprised when he actually seems to take that assurance at face-value, and his shoulders lose some of their intense rigidity.

Only some, though.

“I need someone to help with a few discreet dance lessons for Dirthamen,” they assert.

“Formal?” Tasallir wonders.

They nod.

He frowns, and shakes his head.

“I have only had a few basic lessons myself,” he admits. “They were not considered a necessary part of my curriculum.”

“That’s perfect,” Uthvir assures him. “I need to see what kind of pitfalls Dirthamen might fall into with an inexperienced partner. If you show up, I can give you one third of the lesson fee he’s paying me…” They outline the fees, and Tasallir steadily goes from wary and suspicious, to a little bit more confident, and a little bit more interested.

By the time Thenvunin comes looking for them, he’s more or less agreed.

“I’ll have to reschedule some things,” he allows. “But it should be doable.”

“Good,” they agree.

Thenvunin glances between the two of them worriedly, before letting Uthvir turn and draw him back into the hall, and then on to his own room again. One of his arms comes around them, to their surprise; resting around their waist in a mirror of the gesture that has become more or less habitual for them. They raise an eyebrow at him, and slip one of their own hands into the pocket of his pants.

“What were you scheduling with Tasallir?” he asks.

They shrug.

“Dirthamen needs more dance lessons,” they explain. “Tasallir’s going to help.”

“…Oh,” Thenvunin says, and lets out a breath.

They raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why, babe? Did you think he’d taken to prostitution or something?” they wonder.

He scowls at them.

“Of course not, signif!” he protests. “It’s just – y’know. He’s. Well. He’s got a really strong eyeliner game, and he dresses like a model, and everyone knows he’s got that whole ‘classical elven beauty’ thing going on, like how Serahlin and Aelynthi do, too. It’s a good jam to have. I can see where he might turn a few heads, or something.”

Uthvir leans into him, as they make their way into his room.

“I’m not that into classical elven beauty,” they say. Glory won that contest fair and square, and Uthvir doesn’t have much of a desire to date anyone who  _also_  competes with their sibling for attention. “Your brand of hotness is much more my speed.”

Thenvunin leans back into them a little more, then, and lets them prove it to him.

~

Tasallir is fairly good at following instructions, and, like Dirthamen, tends to be very literal and direct about them.

They are a  _terrible_  dance pair.

Uthvir kind of marvels at it, a little. They’d always thought that they were more or less mediocre at this. And they would never suppose that Tasallir, who isn’t a mage and hasn’t had formal instruction, would precisely excel at it. But Dirthamen’s got a few solid years of lessons under his belt – around a decade’s worth, in fact – and Tasallir had at least given the impression that he knew what dancing  _was._  And yet it’s like watching a neurotic bat try to figure out how to get past an intractable store mannequin.

They almost wish they were filming it. But that would provide evidence of them having sustained interactions with Dirthamen, which is something they’re trying to avoid. He seems like an okay guy. He probably doesn’t deserve what would come of that.

By the third lesson, they’ve acquired a whistle, and have taken to just blasting it every time Dirthamen starts touching the ground when he shouldn’t. They draw out a literal map for Tasallir, which actually seems to help him a lot with the whole ‘moving’ thing; the man is graceful when he knows what he’s doing, but he requires instruction that boils down to a level a minutiae that Uthvir never would have anticipated.

They throw another hour onto the lessons, and start working on parts of Thenvunin’s boots for the bits where they only need to be verbal. Dirthamen does better with demonstrations and Tasallir does better with instructions, and somewhere along the way they find themselves throwing in some half-hearted ballroom lessons for Tasallir, because they’re desperately hoping that Selene at least has Thenvunin-esque instincts for knowing how to move, and they feel  _badly_  about marooning Tasallir in the middle of this.

Even if he  _is_  getting paid.

Tasallir sort of repays them by giving them a set of mother-of-pearl buttons from a shirt he’d worn out, too. Apparently the mother-of-pearl is unfashionable, but he doubts Thenvunin will care. Uthvir’s inclined to agree, and the buttons end up adding some very nice flare, they think, to the water-and-stain-resistant white leather they’ve been using. Glory complains about them working at night on the project, but mostly because of the smell.

Uthvir’s still a little mad at them, though, so they just cheerfully remind their sibling that they have a fiancée and can also probably afford a hotel room, if they really want it.

“If this is your  _subtle_  way of trying to chase me out so you can have Dear Thenvunin over, you can just  _say,”_  Glory grouses.

Uthvir glances sideways at them.

“Don’t call him that,” they say; and are a little surprised when Glory actually seems to reconsider, and then stops with it.

By the time Dirthamen is no longer floundering around Tasallir like an embarrassment, and Tasallir is cutting a rug with surprising finesse, Thenvunin’s boots are done. Which is good, because his others haven’t arrived yet, and winter is really getting into the swing of things. The boots are very soft, and full of as much spellwork as Uthvir has ever managed to shove into a pair without ruining them. They have the mother-of-peal buttons on the top, and a few of the smaller ones down the sides, but they’re just decorative. The actual, functional parts of the boot have zippers, discreetly hidden behind a few flaps. Overall, they are creamy and soft and neutral, and Thenvunin should be able to wear them with most of his other winter clothes.

But they’re missing something.

Uthvir ponders the matter for a bit, before inspiration strikes. Then they shift out their wings, and carefully retrieve a decently-sized feather – it stings, but it’s fine – and trace it onto the soles of each shoe. They seal the paint, and then nod in satisfaction, before shoving them into a spare box. It’s a day and a half before they can actually see Thenvunin and give them to him, though. Everyone’s more or less caught up in their flurries of activity. When they can finally steal a spare moment it ends up being early morning; they swing by the House on the way to their most tedious Economics class, and give the box to a bleary-eyed Thenvunin while Vena’s busy making breakfast shakes.

“Boots,” they say.

Thenvunin blinks, and somehow Uthvir finds a kale smoothie foisted upon them – “Ana’s recipe, she actually knows how to make them taste good!” – as their boyfriend opens the box.

His jaw drops.

That’s a nice reaction, Uthvir decides. They lean up and kiss his cheek.

“Uthvir,” Thenvunin says, urgently. “Uthvir, these are  _beautiful.”_

_They are beautiful._

They grin at him.

“I’m glad you approve, babe.”

“No, but like – these are really,  _really_  gorgeous, Uthvir. They’re…” Thenvunin trails off, looking one over. He fingers the buttons and runs his hands over the leather, and then flips it up and goes quiet as he inspects the soles. Vena lets out a low whistle, and before long everyone is inspecting the boots, which is… not really what Uthvir expected.

Thenvunin’s still being oddly quiet about the whole thing by the time they realize that they have to leave.

“Sib, Uthvir, do you take commissions? Because Serahlin-” Adannar starts.

“These are actually  _very nice,”_  Tasallir says, staring at them like he can’t quite believe it. He looks at Uthvir’s own boots, and seems sort of pained.

“Wait, you  _made_  them? I thought you just bought them…” Vena says.

“They’re just for Thenvunin,” Uthvir asserts, with a shrug. “He needed a pair. Babe, I have to run. I’ll see you later?” they say, glancing at him only to find that his expression has become a little inscrutable. He swallows, and then straightens; and then he moves over, and dips down, and kisses them.

It’s a really nice kiss.

He settles his hands on their shoulders and leans into it, and they tilt up towards it; winding their own arms around his waist, as something in them just  _unfurls._

_I guess this means the boots are a hit?_

“My mother is going to adore you,” Thenvunin says.

They snort, even as he looks like he wants to swallow his own tongue, and takes a swift step back. Clearing his throat and snatching his boots back from Vena.

Uthvir winks at him.

“I’m glad,” they say, simply.

They try not to look too giddy as they finally make their way out of the door.

 

~

 

Thenvunin is drunk.

Thenvunin is  _so_  drunk.

Uthvir comes over to the House to find him sitting with Aelynthi in the hallway, both of them watching YouTube videos on Aelynthi’s laptop and loudly shushing one another. The videos look to be ones of Victory and Aelynthi before Victory shipped out; though they seem to be cheerful enough, and for once, Aelynthi is just laughing instead of looking like he’s on the verge of freaking out about his boyfriend’s deployment. Uthvir guesses the two must have had a good chatting session, which spurred on some kind of celebration.

They walk over, and Thenvunin looks up and beams at them.

“Uthvir!” he shouts.

Aelynthi shushes him, but Thenvunin has decided that Standing Up is going to be a thing worth attempting now. He nearly falls onto the laptop, and Aelynthi makes a sound of protest before Uthvir gets there, and manages to keep their own boyfriend from planting himself face-first into the wall. His hair’s all in disarray, and he’s wearing a very soft purple sweater.

“Uthvir, my lover,” Thenvunin croons. Up go Uthvir’s eyebrows, as he sags against them. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glazed. “We’re lovers.”

They snort.

“Yeah babe, I know,” they tell him, as Aelynthi protectively moves the laptop away, and frowns up at them.

“This is bullshit,” he mutters. “Where’re  _my_  hugs?”

“Shhh, I hugged you,” Thenvunin replies, glaring back at him. “I hugged you  _tons,_ bro. And you didn’t even braid my hair like you said you would. It was going to be all nice for… oh shit,” he swears, and then looks at Uthvir. His brows knit in concern, as Aelynthi manages to muster up the motor skills to close his laptop.

“Uthvir,” Thenvunin whispers. “You have to go. I don’t look hot.”

Uthvir snorts.

“You look hot,” they assure him, and pat his back.

Thenvunin shakes his head, though.

“My hair’s a mess,” he says, still whispering.

It kind of is, they suppose. He’s got a lot of it, after all, and right now it’s all falling around him in a state of dishevelment that’s more ‘just woke up after sleeping in a bird’s nest’ than ‘stylishly tousled’. Aelynthi nods in agreement, and then slumps against Thenvunin’s calf.

“It’s dry now, bro,” he murmurs.

At least, Uthvir  _thinks_  that’s what he murmurs. It’s a little hard to tell. Thenvunin’s trying to push at them, now, to convince them that they need to go before they realize he suffers from the potential fallibility of  _unkempt hair,_  of all possible horrors. His efforts are somewhat stymied by the arm he’s still got slung around their waist.

“Thenvunin,” Uthvir says, amused and probably a little disgustingly fond, and he sags and gives up.

“Oh no,” he whispers loudly at Aelynthi. “They said my  _name.”_

“I hate that,” Aelynthi mutters. “Victory does it too. Fucking cheating is what it is.”

“Okay. So let’s get this sorted out,” Uthvir suggests, and Thenvunin mumbles about them always  _taking charge_  as they shift him around, and sling an arm under his legs, and lift him up. That makes him go quiet, though. Quiet and a little clingy, as he leans over them and they cart him into his room. They manage to get him deposited on the bed, and don’t even need to do much to convince him to stay there. He just stares worriedly at the finch cage and shushes them.

They head back out, obligingly quiet, and haul Aelynthi off to his own room. Because it’s probably rude to just leave him sprawled in the hallway like that. He clings on to his laptop and accepts the glass of water that Uthvir foists onto him, before they go and get one for Thenvunin, and come back to find their boyfriend staring mournfully at his hair.

“Sip this,” they say, and hand him the water, before rummaging around and finding that spray he uses and a brush. That’s going to be a disaster if he sleeps on it, they suspect. It’s been a long time since they had long hair, but they can still recall some of the pitfalls; and Squish’s own luscious locks aren’t nearly as cooperative as Glory’s  _or_  Uthvir’s. She has to do treatments and routines, and maintain her extensions, and a ton of other stuff that Uthvir has assisted with a time or twelve.

Thenvunin grumbles a bit about them being bossy, but takes the glass of water, as Uthvir settles in behind him and starts carefully sorting out his hair. It looks, overall, like he just neglected to brush it after he washed it. Or got it wet, anyway. They use the spray to help loosen it up a little, and then carefully start working through the tangles; holding sections so that they don’t yank at his scalp, and separating them off into pieces.

“We should have sex,” Thenvunin opines, after a while.

“I’m doing your hair, babe, we’ve already got a group activity underway,” Uthvir replies, and leans over to fish through some of his drawers for a few clips to help with that.

“…S’weird,” Thenvunin decides after a minute. “You’re supposed to do your hair  _for_  your… your… you’re not supposed to let them do it for  _you…_ ”

Uthvir’s chest clenches.

“Says who?” they ask, lightly, taking care with the brush over a particularly disheveled segment.

Thenvunin shrugs.

“Everyone?” he suggests.

“Name someone,” Uthvir counters. Thenvunin just slumps a little, though, and after a while starts leaning into the brush strokes. They give up the matter for now, and settle on just straightening out his hair as painfully as possible; making decent use of his little spray bottle, until the room smells very Thenvunin-ish to them. He lets out a sigh, and they think he’d be liable to drift off to sleep, except that the brush strokes keep waking him up. After a few minutes, they prod him into slumping forward so that they can separate it out properly. A braid’s probably a good idea; just to try and keep it orderly while he’s unconscious. They give him a pillow to hold. It seems to help him stay relatively upright.

“You’re a good signif,” he tells them, after a while.

They pat his shoulder.

“I think someone set a low bar for you on that one,” they say. Still. The compliment’s pleasant.

Thenvunin huffs.

“Never had a signif before,” he tells them. “Just boyfriends. Two boyfriends. Couldn’t hold on to either of them.”

“Their loss. My gain,” Uthvir tells him, and kisses his ear, before they go back to carefully twisting his hair into place. “What were their names, just out of curiosity?”

“I wasn’t good enough,” Thenvunin mumbles against his pillow.

Uthvir’s fingers stall. They close their eyes, and draw in a deep breath, before reaching up to brush a hand over Thenvunin’s head.

“Of course you were, babe.  You’re incomparable.”

They’re rewarded with a sigh, and Thenvunin’s hand on their arm. He leans into them some more, but the braid is getting long enough that they can just move it around to the front to finish it, now. His eyes follow their movements as they carefully start to tie it off, and then pluck up a hair elastic and secure it in place.

“Do I look okay?” Thenvunin asks them.

“You’re gorgeous,” they assure him, and nudge him back down onto the bed. He flops, his cheeks still all pink, and looks up at them for a minute. All soft and, they think,  _completely_ sloshed. They brush a few stray strands away from his face, and move the pillow so it’s actually under his head.

“Are you going to ravish me now?” he asks, blinking slowly.

“Maybe later,” they suggest. “Might take a kiss, though. If you have no objections?”

Thenvunin’s throat bobs, and his lips part a little. He nods, a little, and they lean in and he tastes just about as soft and warm as they expected. They moves their lips gently against his own, and cup his cheek, before pulling back again. He sighs. One of his hands stays wrapped firmly around their wrist, and he murmurs something incomprehensible about bees and Krispy Kremes full of knives before he finally drops off.

Uthvir takes a moment. The bed is comfortable, after all, and Thenvunin’s legs are still kind of haphazardly in their lap. Then they settle him out a bit more coherently, and straighten their own clothes out before getting up to leave.

“Sleep tight, babe,” they say, and throw a blanket over him.

Not quite the evening they were expecting, but then, they’re starting to think that’s part of his charm.

 

~

 

Uthvir is in the library, studying.

They’ve actually been in the library for about an hour now, hitting the books. Occasionally wishing that could be a more literal turn of phrase. Glory was with them for the first half hour, but then their mother called, all worked up because apparently she sent a package and they haven’t e-mailed her the cursory ‘thank you’ message which means they haven’t got it, so their sibling volunteers to go and check the mail.

Selene drops by, chatting just briefly, but she’s working and they’re not really ‘drop everything to engage in conversation’ kind of friends. She recommends a text to help them with their current mathematical difficulties, and finds it for them before moving on.

It’s quiet. There are a bunch of other students camped out at other tables. Thenvunin said he might come and join them, but he’s working out and they’re well aware that he can lose track of time when he’s doing that; so that could be hit-or-miss. They’re drowning in econometrics when a shadow falls over their shoulder.

They glance up, and hear a low whistle.

“And here I was betting you’d be an art student for sure,” a rich, masculine voice intones. Trying for charm, Uthvir thinks, but there’s a little too much condescension even in that opening salvo for their liking. They keep most of their body turned towards their project as they glance upwards.

Average height for a human, but stocky enough that they wouldn’t have much trouble believing he was part dwarf. Pale, with blue eyes that probably win him some points, and a strap beard that almost immediately deducts them again. It’s early winter, but he’s dressed in baggy shorts, a grey hoodie, and a t-shirt that, most distressingly, seems to be sporting the Templar ‘T’ on the front of it.

“I’m a mage,” Uthvir drawls. Sometimes it pays to just be direct.

And, sometimes it just incites idiocy.

“What? Oh, this?” the man asks, gesturing towards his shirt. “You one of those Mage Rights types who get all worked up every time they see a letter somewhere? Don’t be so hasty. I don’t have anything at all against mages, I’m just in favour of better regulations. It’s actually a really interesting subject, and not one that a lot of people know about. The Templar reputation as bogeymen is really undeserved…”

Uthvir raises an eyebrow.

“Has this ever actually  _worked out_  for you?” they wonder. “Approaching unfamiliar mages in the library and launching into a lecture? I can’t imagine it would be all that effective. It might trap a few of the more polite souls, I suppose, for the length of an awkward conversation. Possibly merit a few fake phone numbers.”

The man laughs, uncomfortably.

“Fake bitches give out fake numbers,” he says, in a tone which implies he has completely missed the intended point of Uthvir’s barb. “Especially human women, you know? Elves are a lot better that way. Less corrupted by gendered expectations and things. I’ve got a real appreciation for elven beauty, you know, in all its forms.”

“How patronizing,” they drawl.

The man laughs, and moves closer; and they realize that he won’t be catching a clue any time soon. Joy of unending joys. They mark their place in their textbook, and start packing up their things.

“Hey, come on,” the man protests. “We were just talking.”

“And now we are done talking. Imagine that,” Uthvir replies. It’s as good stopping point as any, in the end; though they suppose they should probably warn Selene about this one, if she doesn’t already know. Whatever he might  _say_ , that shirt is a fairly ugly red flag.

“I guess they don’t teach manners so well in alienage whorehouses,” the man spits, and reaches for Uthvir. Who thinks  _oh, good, an excuse to break his wrist,_  and braces themselves for the zero-point-two seconds of contact they’ll have to endure before they can send the man to the infirmary.

_Wham._

A copy of  _Integrative Social Work_  slams into the back of the man’s head, and he stumbles sideways instead, letting out a surprised cry and stumbling into one of the empty chairs at Uthvir’s table. They take a step back, and finish closing their book bag, ready to leave in a hurry as they look over.

A positively livid Thenvunin is standing not far from the stacks, looking very tall and sturdy and like he knows how to use every single one of his well-built muscles to full effect. Uthvir lets themselves take a millisecond to appreciate the sight, before bending down and scooping up his text book, and moving hastily to his side. Templar Shirt is groaning, and starting to look for his attacker now.

They reach over and close a hand around Thenvunin’s forearm.

“We should go,” they say. Easier to avoid trouble that way; they can confer with Glory and Desire and see about removing the man as a problem later.

Thenvunin closes a hand over theirs, but doesn’t let them pull him away.

“I’m gonna fight him,” Thenvunin says. “Campus regulations permit the use of non-lethal duels in solving disputes between fraternities, sororities, and consanguinities. I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“You don’t even know if he’s in a fraternity,” they feel compelled to point out. The man is offensive, definitely, but they’re a little surprised that Thenvunin is  _this_  angry about it. Maybe he’s had a long day.

“You  _fucker,”_  Templar Shirt groans. But despite his language, he doesn’t really seem to be in a fighting mood. If anything he looks like he’s two steps away from hiding under the table; clutching the back of his head and groaning, red-faced as a few tears leak out of the corner of his eyes. “ _Fuck.”_

Thenvunin stares down his nose at him.

“Pathetic,” he sneers. 

“This assault! I’ll get you thrown out, I know people!” the man shouts.

Uthvir rolls their eyes, at that. Thenvunin looks like he’s considering giving violence another go.

That’s when Selene rounds the corner; obviously drawn in by the sounds of a commotion. She looks at them, and then she looks at the red-faced human still clutching the back of his head, and her eyes narrow.

“You!” she snaps. “You’re banned! How many times do I have to tell you, you’re not supposed to be in here? I’m calling campus security.”

“You can’t ban people from libraries!” the man insists. For some reason.

“Yes you can!” Selene snaps back. She puts an arm out in front of Thenvunin, and between the two of them they finally manage to get him to turn around, They go with her back to the front desk, where she makes her call while the human in question screams about improbable lawsuits. Thenvunin is still very rigid. But then he glances down at Uthvir, and his brow furrows.

“Are you okay, sig?” he asks. 

They frown.

“Sure,” they say. “That was nothing I couldn’t handle.” Is he so worried about them? He knows how strong they are.

Thenvunin still looks concerned, though.

“Templars are dangerous. He didn’t do anything to you, right? No suppressing stuff or sense-addling things?” he checks.

Is  _that_  what he’s worried about?

“No. I doubt that one has the actual  _skill set_ to go with his prejudices,” they assure him. Then they blink as he presses a palm against their forehead. Selene looks a little surprised, too.

“It’s alright, Thenvunin. Lyrium sets off the alarms the same way spell use does. If he’d done anything I would know about it,” she assures him. 

He pulls his hand back; though he still stays close in a manner that Uthvir suspects is perilously near to  _hovering._  Security manages to show up in a timely fashion, as Selene bids them wait with her at the desk. The would-be Templar progresses from cursing to threatening when the campus peacekeepers actually arrive, but his protests fall on deaf, unimpressed ears. The human pair who escort him out don’t seem particularly charmed by his efforts to buddy up with them.

Especially the one who has a little starburst on their nametag, next to the neat scrawling of ‘Malcolm’. 

Meaning he’s probably a mage.

“What on  _earth_  is the world coming to when a man can’t abuse his privilege in peace?” he drawls, sarcastically, and then comes to get their report while his partner carts the man out of the library at last.

“That - that cretin should be expelled out, bro!” Thenvunin declares, shifting abruptly into brospeak mid-sentence. Malcolm blinks, and Uthvir feels a rush of warm amusement. “He was saying all this bullshit and he wouldn’t leave Uthvir alone, and then he tried to touch them, and he’s not even supposed to be here! He was wearing a Templar symbol on his shirt, that’s illegal!”

“Not in Ferelden it isn’t, I’m afraid,” Malcolm replies. “One of the few ways in which we’re behind the times. But you said he touched your friend…?”

“He tried to grab me,” Uthvir confirms. “He wouldn’t have gotten very far with that, even if a random book hadn’t fallen off a nearby shelf and hit him on the head.”

Thenvunin frowns.

“It didn’t fall off a shelf, I threw it at him,” he insists.

Uthvir sighs.

Selene runs a hand down the side of her face.

“…Right,” Malcolm says. “Well I don’t think that’s a pertinent detail either way. The point is that this is his fourth violation, so I think a case can be made for further disciplinary action. Hopefully, he won’t be bothering you again. But if he does, I’m Hawke at the security office, and my partner is Carver. Bring it to us and we’ll deal with him.”

Uthvir thinks they’d probably have better luck going through their sibling, but they appreciate the sentiment.

“I’m going to have to tell my supervisor about this,” Selene notes, with a sigh. Then she straightens up. “You two can go now, if you want. Or find another table, maybe.”

“When’s your shift over?” Uthvir asks.

“Another hour,” Selene asserts, with the quiet longing of someone who really wants to just find a comfortable mattress and flop onto it. They consider how ‘effective’ a university security team is likely to be, and the odds of a man like Templar Shirt coming back to the library and causing more trouble just as soon as they finish their mall cop routine on him.

They glance up at Thenvunin, who’s giving them that concerned look again.

“Let’s hang around,” they suggest. “We can actually get some studying in, and then leave together.”

“Whatever you want, signif,” Thenvunin agrees.

_This is supposed to be Glory’s thing,_  they think. Fighting off scumbags and hanging around people and getting aggressively defended by beautiful heroes. They smirk a little at the last thought, and look at Thenvunin again. 

What a weird fairy tale prince.

 

~

 

Thenvunin feels like something must have gone awry with his social image when no less than  _five_  people send him links to this same game.

This same game, which – as near as he can tell – seems to be some kind of bird dating simulator.

Bird. Dating. Simulator.

Thenvunin re-reads the premise again, and just… why did someone pick  _pigeons?_  Like, okay, Thenvunin’s not anti-pigeon by any means. Their feathers are way more pretty than most people are willing to credit, even the flat grey ones that don’t have that oil-slick rainbow sheen to them. And they make sounds like doves, and can be very friendly when approached correctly. The first pigeons Thenvunin had actually seen in person had been in Orlais, when his mother took him there on business, and he’d happily killed some time feeding them and chatting at them in his halting, tourist-y grasp of the Orlesian language.

But why  _primarily_  pigeons, he wants to know? Why not parrots or corvids or raptors? And also that’s probably beside the point, because a bird  _dating simulator_  is strange, and wrong, and doubly wrong when he realizes that the protagonist isn’t even meant to be a bird. It’s a human. A human, dating a bird.

What is  _wrong_  with people?

Thenvunin gets the game but only because so many people recommended it to him.

It’s horrible, of course.

…He can’t stop playing it.

He’s in the midst of trying to start up a romance with a new bird – the school doctor, this time – when there’s a knock on his door. It’s open a crack, he realizes, all at once. And then a rush of panic spikes through him as Uthvir opens it, and all at once he thinks  _they can’t know,_ and scrambles to close the laptop. His hand comes down on it too hard, and the bottom slides over the slick fabric of his shorts, and somehow between that and some reflexive effort to scramble backwards and look nonchalant, the laptop  _smacks_ shut and then goes whipping across the room, crashing against the side of his desk and then smashing into the wall with enough force to dent it.

The finches become distressed at the sudden racket.

Uthvir blinks.

Thenvunin’s face  _flames._

There are a few moments of silence. Uthvir looks at the damaged laptop, and the dented wall, and Thenvunin looks he should really calm down his real, actual, not post-apocalyptically-intelligent birds, but he feels frozen in place.

“So…” Uthvir says, slowly. Lifting an eyebrow. “Watching porn?”

Thenvunin’s face heats even  _more_ , and he flounders.

“Of course not, I – I mean, that is – that wouldn’t be the  _only_  reason – what are you even trying to imply, I was in the middle of something and you, you – you startled me is what happened, barging in here like – was that even a knock, who taught you to knock, sig, because – no don’t touch it!”

The last escapes him in a blurted rush as Uthvir goes and picks up his laptop. He hurries over to them, but they lift the computer up and it comes away in two pieces in their hands; hinges broken, screen cracked and dark. Thenvunin swallows; shit. He had classwork on there. But then he shakes his head, and turns his attention briefly towards the finch cage, instead, murmuring apologies and making soothing noises.

Uthvir settles the broken computer onto his desk, and then comes up behind him. Snaking an arm around his waist. Thenvunin feels a spark of heat as their hand slips under his shirt, and presses against his stomach. The tips of their nails trailing just lightly over his skin.

“What kind of porn was it?” they ask.

“None of your business!” he snaps, and then backpedals. “Not that it was even porn! Because it wasn’t!”

No. No, it was  _even more embarrassing than that,_  and maybe he should actually stop denying it, he thinks. He swallows, and Uthvir’s hand brushes down towards the waistband of his shorts, as they lean in against him and chuckle.

“If you insist,” they say. “But if you don’t tell me about your fantasies, however will I help make them come true?”

Thenvunin’s mind blanks. Because of course, obviously, Uthvir is not a pigeon in a bizarre dating game. Which is a good thing, because as much as Thenvunin likes birds, he would much rather be dating an elf, all factors considered. But then his mind immediately turns to the fact that Uthvir is an elf  _with wings,_  which is, perhaps, the best of all possible worlds, and then he’s thinking about Uthvir’s wings and they’re in front of the finch cage and he should not be exposing his birds to this. He’s  _not_  that depraved, thank you very much.

He reaches down and gives Uthvir’s hand a light smack, and they obligingly retract it from toying with him; smirking and pressing a kiss to his bicep.

“Sorry about your computer, babe,” they say.

“You need to knock better,” Thenvunin asserts, firmly. “Pepper and Tummy were alarmed.”

“My sincere apologies to them as well,” Uthvir replies with false solemnity, still much too amused.

Thenvunin sighs.

Well.

At least they didn’t come in when he was writing in his purple journal. Though it probably would have survived being flung across the room much better; then they might have  _read it._

What a horrifying thought.

 

~

 

Uthvir is drunk.

Uthvir never gets drunk.

This is a new development. Fear doesn’t like it, but can’t really interfere, either.

Heh.

Inter _fear._

The space around campus has been rendered more or less  _mute_  to magic. An accident from one of the research projects, supposedly; reports and reassurances have gone out that the effects should dissipate by tomorrow. Though if this is the preliminary of some kind of anti-mage attack, then it’s a very worrying and effective one.

At least Uthvir is the only mage they know who seems to be suffering from intense disorientation as a side-effect. While they’d still had two brain cells to rub together, they’d decided that inebriation would be a better cover story for the whole thing than trying to explain that it was probably because they were possessed. So they’d cracked open Glory’s booze stash, and now, they are sitting in their room, and they are drunk.

Very drunk.

They’re hiding, too. That was why they were ignoring their phone’s buzzing. But they forget about that when it does it again, which means they see the message from Thenvunin.

_Where are you ???_

Uthvir squints.

There are a lot of frowny faces.

That’s not good. Fuck. They open up a reply, their brow furrowing as their fingers don’t really seem keen on cooperating with them.

_Im hiding_

There. They nod at their phone, and give it a pat, before setting it back down. Good phone. Shush now.

It buzzes again.

_Where??!?!_

Oh.

They pause, and think for a minute that if they’re hiding, they probably shouldn’t tell anyone where they are. Well. Glory knows, but that’s because Glory is nosy as hell. Which means Squish probably also knows. And if Glory’s fiancée gets to know, then probably, Uthvir’s own boyfriend should know. Right? Otherwise it’s like they’re cheating on him with secrets, or something.

_Im in my room_

There. They need another drink, they think. To help focus. Because they’re drunk, and they think there’s this point where you get so drunk that you feel sober again. Maybe? They’re not sure. All they know is that alcohol tastes like shit and so there’s probably  _some_  appeal to this whole process. Somewhere. Maybe.

Another drink it is, though. They take a swig, and then frown as they reach the end of the bottle. It takes a certain degree of concentration to place it carefully down on the floor, so it doesn’t fall over. Rolling bottles are not good, though. Someone could step on that and break their ankle.

They’re frowning at the thought when someone knocks on their door.

Uthvir doesn’t answer, because they’re hiding.

“Uthvir?” Thenvunin calls.

Oh.

They get up, tangling in the sheets a bit, and then head over and pull the door open.

Thenvunin’s behind it.

He’s very blue today.

“Hi babe!” they say. “Oh shit. Wait. Shh. I should’ve done that quieter.”

Thenvunin frowns. Dammit. No frowning, that was the whole point of… something. Still. It’s bad. Uthvir pulls him into the room, and closes the door firmly behind him. There, they can hide together, now. Maybe they should have done that from the beginning. Thenvunin’s not a mage but who knows what kind of dangerous things are going on around campus with no magic around? They frown, and then start checking him over for damage.

“What are you doing? Are you  _drunk?_  How much did you drink?” Thenvunin demands, going all sputter-y and getting flustered as Uthvir pulls up his shirt. “Control yourself, sig!”

“You’re not hurt, right?” Uthvir asks, blinking at him. Doesn’t look like it. His cheeks are pink, but that’s probably just because Uthvir’s touching him.

“No, I’m not hurt,” he says, more quietly. “Are you? Is that why you weren’t answering my texts? You freaked me out, Uthvir, everyone’s been trying to make sure they know where all the mages are and no one had seen you.”

That’s not true. Glory saw them. Before they kicked Glory out with Squish, anyway, because they couldn’t take them fussing and wanted to get drunk without witnesses. Not that they mentioned that last part. Glory doesn’t know about Fear, after all. It’s a secret. But Thenvunin didn’t know that Uthvir was here, which was bad.

“I’m sorry,” they say, and pat his shirt back down into place. The room is tilting and awful lot, they think. They keep hold of Thenvunin, so he doesn’t fall. And then they’re hugging, which is pretty nice. Uthvir closes their eyes, which also makes things less disorienting, and sighs. Yes. Good. Hiding with Thenvunin, now. Much better. They start moving again, or Thenvunin does, anyway. The room spins a little and they open their eyes to make sure they aren’t under attack, but all they can see is Thenvunin’s chest, and then they hear the creak of the bed, and nothing bad actually seems to be happening.

“I guess… not having magic is kind of freaky, when you’re used to it,” Thenvunin says. “You should have called me.”

“Yeah,” Uthvir agrees. They should have. Except there was a reason they didn’t. Secrets, or something. Whatever. Probably doesn’t matter now. Thenvunin brushes a hand across their cheek, and that feels really nice. They sigh. His shirt’s soft. It’s all blue and green and turquoise, and swooshy shapes. Uthvir presses their face against it.

“Is this a new shirt?” they ask.

Thenvunin takes a minute to answer.

“No,” he says. “It’s an old one. Sometimes I sleep in it.”

“Oh,” they reply.

Then they take a minute to think.

“Were you sleeping?”

Thenvunin shifts. His arms close around them. Good, nice arms. Not trapping. Hugging.

“No. But it’s laundry day, and I got interrupted because I was trying to find you.”

Uthvir frowns.

“You should have come here,” they say, and give him another pat. “I’m hiding but I’d still let you in. Because I did.”

“What are you hiding from, sig?” Thenvunin asks.

They think about that. What… what  _are_  they hiding from? There’s a thing. They know it is. Something to do with Fear, maybe. OH, right, they’re hiding because their magic went out, and Fear was really far away, and it was making them woozy and that’s really goddamn dangerous. But they can’t tell Thenvunin that because Fear’s a secret. They’ll need to think of a plausible lie.

“I was hiding from bears,” they say.

Nailed it.

There’s a pause.

“I don’t think there are a lot of bears on campus, Uthvir,” Thenvunin tells them.

“We’re in Ferelden,” Uthvir replies. Which is a fact, and it is also a fact that there are a lot of bears in Ferelden. Especially in the Hinterlands. And Amaranthine. Or, no. Is it Amaranthine or Highever that has the bears? Or both? They can’t remember. There are bears in Orlais, too, though. And the Free Marches. Which means they can probably swimg. They could swim out to the campus even, they think. If it were on an island.

It isn’t, though.

“Did that pro-Templar come back?” Thenvunin asks. “Is he bothering you?”

Uthvir blinks, and leans back to look up at him. The pro…?

Oh!

The ony Thenvunin threw a book at!

They give him another pat. “My knight in shining armour,” they say, and his cheeks go exceptionally pink, and he opens his mouth but doesn’t actually say anything. They grin, and he licks his lips, and they want to hug him some more. So they do. Pulling him down to the pillows, where it’s comfier, and hiding him under the blanket with them, where their strategy is more likely to work out. To the untrained eye they’ll just look like a big lump of blankets. Uthvir should go on top, though, because then if anyone stabds the blanket lump, they’ll get stabbed first. They’re better at surviving that kind of thing.

“Don’t get stabbed,” they instruct Thenvunin.

He makes a funny noice.

“Why would I get stabbed?” he asks.

“You need to watch more movies,” Uthvir decides. It’s nice, though. Except that Thenvunin’s wearing a belt, and that’s not comfy enough. They move to start taking it off of him. It’s harder than usual.

The belt. Not him. Usually he’s  _very_  hard, but not right now. He catches their hands and stops them, and makes some sounds about  _you’re drunk, Uthvir,_  and  _I don’t think we should do this,_  and then he goes all rigid and uncertain and Uthvir feels bad, because it’s probably because some shitheel piece of fucking useless waste of space that they want to murder with their bare hands did something to Thenuvnin while he was drunk. Fuck. Fucking. NO.

They are  _hiding._  And maybe cuddling. Not doing bad sex things.

Uthvir gets Thenvunin’s belt off. And then they carefully put it aside, with another pat so it stays where they put it, and they pull they blanket back up because it fell down, and hug him. Wrapping their arms around him and shoving their face up by his should, and closing their eyes. He smells good. He always smells so  _good._  They should rpobaby tell him that, because he gets all self-conscious and worries about stuff.

“You smell good,” they manage.

There.

Perfect.

Now he knows.

He brushes his hand across their cheek again, which is really nice. Uthvir kisses it as ‘thank you’, and closes their eyes when they start to feel dizzy again. It’s alright. They’ve got Thenvunin, they’ve got a plan, and a secure hiding place. It’s good. They’re safe. They’re safe, and Thenvuin’s safe, and Squish is with Glory so the two o fthem are probably also safe.

“How much did you drink?” thenvunin asks.

“A lot,” Uthvir knows. “How much did  _you_  drindk?” IF Thenvunin’s drunk that might be a problem. They’ll have to take care of him. They shift around, looking at him. His hair’s okay, at tleast.

“I didn’t drink anything,” he tells them.

They frown.

“Are you thirsty?” they wonder. Shit. They should have brought more supplies.

“No, Uthvir. I’m okay,” Thenvunin assures him,a nd his eyes do that thing. That thing where everything gets all soft, and Uthvir’s heart does unconvenient twist-flips, and it’s not fair but they also love it. Nobody looks at them like that. Just Thenvunin. Maybe it’s a boyfriend-only kind of a look. Except he did it sometimes even before he was their boyfriend, although they think that probably doesn’t matter, for some reason. He was still their boyfriend, even when he wasn’t their byofrined.

They want to kiss him.

They miss.

Their face ends up on the pillow next to his, instead, they get some of his hair in their mouth, and frown.

“Kiss me?” they ask, as he runs a hand up and down their back. Maybe he can manage it, even if they can’t.

He rolls onto his side, and tilts their head so it’s not in the pillow anymore – probably a good idea – and then kisses them. His mouth is so good. They follow along with it, and they kind of want to bite his lips because they’re soft and warm and really close to their teeth, but that’s probably not a good idea because they might bite too hard and then that would be a disaster. Uthvir’s teeth are sharp. So they just let it be a nice, tooth-free kiss, and then another one. Thenvunin doesn’t usually get to be in charge of kisses this much. It’s a lot of kissing, for him. But he seems to be liking it, so that’s good, and it feels really nice. Uthvir hums and pets his hair, and stops moving when his tongue gets into their mouth because they don’t want to bite it. That would hurt, and bleed, probably, and they don’t even have magic so they probably couldn’t have fun with the bleeding, in fact.

It feels good, though. All warm and tingling. They nudge their hips a little closer to him, but then Thenvunin stops. Then Thenvunin. Then-vunin.

He pulls back, and reaches around, and Uthvir blinks as he wedges a pillow up against his crotch and between the two of them.

“What are you doing?” they ask

“I don’t want… I just…” Thenvunin says, hesitantly. “This is just smarter, I think.”

UThvir isnt’ sure  _how_ , but they’re willing to go with it. Crotch pillows. Well, Thenvunin’s the sober one. They lean in towards him again and mean to resume kissing, but somehow they just end up nuzzling his shoulder, instead.

“You’re a good boyfriend,” they tell him.

“You’re the first to think so,” Thenvunin replies, all rueful and sad.

“Fuckers,” Uthvir mutters. They have sharp nails. They can gouge people’s eyes out, for sure. Maybe they’ll do that, if they ever meet Thenvunin’s exes. Then they’ll never get to look at Thenvunin again. Just good people get to enjoy Uthvir’s colourful beautiful boyfriend.

…That’s probably dark and unhealthy for some reason, but they forget why.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Thenvunin tells them.

“Me too,” Uthvir says.


	10. Evil Exes

Serahlin on average takes four classes a semester. This leaves her time to organize functions for her sorority and to do ample volunteer work. Sometimes she ends up taking a fifth course, and she takes at least two courses a summer, but over all, she manages to balance herself very well.

Volunteering is exceptionally important. Everyone should be required to give back to their community, even in some small way. So far, she has lead two beautification projects in the surrounding town, worked at a homeless shelter, and has even spoken at a rally in one of the poorer neighborhoods that are usually, and unfortunately, predominantly elven. This semester is different, however, in that she has decided to work with children. She volunteers at an after school program, helping children with homework, reading, and even in physical education.

It is some of the most amazing and rewarding work she has ever done. The children are amazing, and she can’t help but love each one she has a chance to see and work with.

But while she loves these children and they love her, their germs also love her and it is not long until she wakes up feeling absolutely disgusting. Her throat is dry, her nose is running, and her entire body is wracked with chills.

No. This is  _not_  part of the schedule. Getting sick is not her perky pink planner, or on the calendar she keeps in her room. She doesn’t have time for this. She has a paper due in two weeks on child development, an exam on Monday in Calculus that she is woefully ill-prepared for, plus the children! Who is going to remember that Bobby can’t eat peanuts but he always tries to sneak a handful from Laena because she peanuts? There are a thousand little things that have to get done, and none of them involve coughing, sputtering, a red nose, and a disgustingly hoarse voice.

“Ugh,” she groans, hauling herself out of bed. She’ll just have to take some Dayquil and power through the day.

She dresses in layers, throwing her hair up into a messy bun that she hopes looks more messy-chic than ‘I was too exhausted to properly do my hair’. Gods be willing that Tasallir doesn’t see her like this.

Instead of her usual travel mug of coffee, she travels with honeyed tea and hopes that will help with the voice.

Her first class goes…well enough. But she is shivering despite the layers and her notes end up looking more like incoherent chicken scratches than anything else. But she doesn’t think about it as she makes her way to her next class: Calc 1. They should call it the menace, or the true evil, she thinks, but no, they opted to call it Calculus.

She opts for a seat in the back, reducing the risk of someone seeing her.

Minutes into the class pass by and it looks almost as if the professor will blessedly just not show up. But then the door bangs open and…a very frazzled looking Selene is suddenly bustling into the room, arms full of books and papers. She adjusts the glasses on her face and drops the things onto the table before picking up a slip of paper and nodding.

“Hey, everybody, Professor Niall is out due to illness. I’m Selene and I’ll be your instructor for the day…..” and as she begins to teach the class, Serahlin internally groans. Why? Why today? Out of all the days for Selene to have been called in to sub for a class (also, how did she even have time for this? Does this count as her work-study?), why does it have to be the day Serahlin is sick?

A coughing fit suddenly wracks her body and she does her best to silence it, but it’s pretty difficult when her body seems bent on removing her lung via coughing. Selene turns reflexively and frowns when she finally spots Serahlin positively convulsing in the back row. But she blessedly returns to the lesson plan that Serahlin is having more and more difficulty following.

Her body is freezing cold, exhaustion sowing deeply into her bones, and she feels the rattle of her lungs when she coughs.

_Ugh._

Selene tells the class to work on a problem on the board before shuffling behind the lectern and pulling out her phone…is she even allowed to do that? She types pretty quickly on it and then demands the answers for the class.

Serahlin doesn’t even know what the problem is.  She rubs her face tries to focus on the board, but it is very white and shiny and she really just wants to curl up in a ball.

When class ends, Selene is by Serahlin so quickly, that Serahlin is almost convinced she used magic. Mages can do that, right? Fade step or something?

“Go home, you’re sick.” Selene tells her sternly.

“I can’t, I have too much to do. And I’m not even that sick,” Serahlin protests. Selene ignores her and presses her hand to Serahlin’s forehead.

“You’re burning up, Serahlin. Go home, sleep, have some soup.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“Somehow I knew you were going to protest. That’s why I got back-up.” Back-up? What does she even mean by that –

Adannar bursts into the room, hands on his hip and a ridiculously tiny hat on his head, “Hellooooo, nurse!”

Selene has betrayed her. And Serahlin thought they were friends.

She looks up at Selene, incredulous, “You called  _Adannar?_ ”

“Actually she texted me, but yep. You’re coming with me, your hot new nurse, to get you all healthy again.” He bounds up the stairs, Flower following him quickly.

He reaches for her bag, slinging it over his free shoulder before offering a hand up.

This is ridiculous. She is an adult woman with a busy schedule, she doesn’t have time to just lie around with Adannar, being sick and gross, while she has all of this stuff to do. Very important stuff. Stuff that needs to be done…. Adannar looks very nice and warm, in that green pullover, and he’s one of the few people who can actually wear a beanie and not look ridiculous.

She can’t really recall of the stuff she has to do, but she feels wretched, and Adannar is holding his hand out, going on about promises of soup, and warmth, and did he just say cuddles and chick flicks?

Stuff seems less important now, and Adannar looks so very nice.

Serahlin places her hand in his and allows him to help her up.

“There you go, nice and easy.” His voice is surprisingly soft and calm, and even Flower isn’t yipping at her. But Serahlin does waver a bit when she stands and ends up practically falling into Adannar’s chest, his very  _warm_  and  _soft_  chest. He curls an arm around her and holds to his body.

“Can you take it from here, Addy?” Selene asks.

“Yeah, totally, I got her. We’re gonna go to the house and I’m gonna get her all nice and cozy with Sex and the City or something.”

“Orlais’s Next Top Model,” Serahlin protests and he chuckles.

“Anything you want.” He says goodbye to Selene and then begins to usher her and Flower out of the math building and toward the frat house.

**

He unhooks Flower’s leash from her once they’re inside, then he promptly lifts Serahlin into his arms.

“Ah!” She squeaks or…whatever sound that is with her voice. She clasps a hand over her mouth and shuts her eyes as the world moves really too fast for her own good. She leans her head back onto Adannar’s shoulder, tucking her face into the crook of his neck so she doesn’t have to see the awful moving world.

A little noise of happiness escapes him and she can just feel the huge smile on his face as he carries to his bedroom on the second floor. He hums and rubs at her back in surprisingly soothing circles before slowly depositing her onto his bed.

She opens her eyes to have all of her breath be stolen. His expression is so…soft, full of a tender emotion that she so rarely sees directed at her. His hand smooths her hair away from her face.

“I’m going to make you some soup, kay? Then we can watch as many of the episodes of Orlais’s Next Top Model as you want.” She turns away from him to cough before nodding and giving him a thumb’s up.

A thumb’s up for the world’s most tender expression.

_Why are you such a cold bitch? Do you even try?_

It seems like a sick brain is also one that lets mean things exes once said resurface.

Misery loves company after all.

But misery cannot compete with the softness of Adannar’s bed. Her hand runs over his pillow, blankets, and even the sheets. Everything is so…soft and  _warm._

By the time Adannar returns, she has cocooned herself in his blankets, feeling vaguely guilty at not asking him.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. Burrow on in, get your burrito on.” Her hands are under the blankets though, and he has this bowl of soup…he dips the spoon into the bowl and holds it for her.

“I can feed myself.”

“Let me help you, my burrito bud.” He gives her his signature puppy eyes and really, how is she supposed to say no to that?

Her mouth opens for him. They spend a good amount of time just feeding her, slowly and tentatively until the soup begins to warm her belly.

The bowl is mostly empty when she tells him she’s had enough. The bowl is set aside then Adannar’s laptop is produced, and soon she’s looking at Adannar’s Netflix home page.

“’Gossip Girl’?”

“What? Can’t a bro have his guilty pleasures?” He teases before bringing up Season 3 of Orlais’s Next Top Model. Oh yes, this is a good season, it has Ashokara in it, the first Vashoth contestant.

Adannar shifts around the bed, wrapping an arm around Serahlin’s burrito’d form, pulling her to over to his chest. Oh he is so  _warm_  and  _soft_  and so good to her, with his tender looks, and his beautiful necklaces. He is so good to her.

She snuggles into his chest and wonders why she couldn’t have dated him instead of Darris. Adannar would make a good boyfriend, she thinks, sweet, kind, always making her laugh. Never saying she’s a cold bitch. Never telling her that she should have sex with him because all of his previous significant others had. He’d be good, with warm smiles and a soft heart.

“You’re a good man, Adanna. Thank you,” she murmurs before falling into a deep sleep.

 

~

 

It is still early afternoon when Selene makes her way to the house. Her evening class is located on this side of the campus, so Dirthamen had offered to host their study session here, rather than in her own room. Selene couldn’t really argue that it would save her at least twenty minutes of travel time later, so here she was.

She knocks, but there is no answer.

 

Slowly, she opens the door, and-is not expecting to see a grand piano taking up the majority of the living room.

Dirthamen is sitting at the bench, running his fingers lightly over the keys, button up shirt rolled up to elbows. There is something intimate about the moment, and Selene wonders if she should excuse herself and pretend not to have seen it.

He glances up, however, and his hand shoots back into his lap.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” she smiles. “You…got a piano?”

  
“No. I believe it is Aelynthis, for one of his projects.”

Her eyebrows raise at that “Vena couldn’t put up his poster, but Aelynthi got a piano?”

“I do not believe Vena has been home since it was delivered. I am fairly certain it is supposed to be moved someplace else soon, however.”

 

“I see,” Selene nods, then notices one of Dirthamens hands drifting over the keys again. “Do you play?”

He hesitates. “I did, when I was younger. It has been some time since I practiced.”

Selene hums in acknowledgment, and seats herself next to him, placing her bag on the floor next to him.

“Can you show me? I’ve never seen one this close before.”

 

He nods, and plays briefly through a small series of scales. His fingers move swiftly, and comfortably over the keys, and Selene has a feeling that perhaps the muscle memory isn’t so far gone as he claims. She hums along to one of his scales, and he turns to look at her “Do you sing?”

“A bit,” she smiles. “Nothing fancy really, just for fun.”

 

He seems to hesitate then, before reaching for his phone. He pulls up an app for digital sheet music, and hands it to her.

“Are you familiar with any of these, by chance?”

 

Selene scrolls through the list, and a few catch her attention, but she settles on something a bit calmer, and more suited for what they have to work with “I could probably manage this one, if you could,” she offers and hands him back his phone.

 

He glances through the pages, and gives a small nod, then places it on the music stand above the keys.

“Is this alright?” he asks her, seeking permission.

 

She gives him a smile, and an encouraging squeeze on his arm “I’m fine with it if you are.”

 

He gives her a tentative smile back, and begins to play the introduction. She taps the beat out carefully on her thigh, and begins to sing along to the melody. It is soft, and sweet,  to start. It works its way into a swell, and Selene closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying it. Dirthamen keeps up with ease and before long, they’re both nodding along to the beat, and she is smiling at him and things are easy and comfortable, and the rest of the world melts away from them.

They work their way through the song in tandem, and his playing seems effortless and she tries not to get distracted by how much more relaxed he seems like this. It’s nice, and it feels right, somehow. She sings her final few bars, and Dirthamen closes his chord, and for a moment they are just staring at each other, each caught up in the connection.

 

Aelynthi clears his throat, in the doorway.

“I see my piano arrived.”

“Yes,” Dirthamen says, as he stands, and Selene blushes and follows his lead “I apologize. I should have asked you before playing it.”

 

“It is…fine.” Aelynthi manages. “I will be needing it for the rest of the evening though.”

“Of course,” Dirthamen nods. He and Selene make their way up to his room, and settle in for their session.

 

Selene spends most of it wondering if she could manage to get him a keyboard piano for a Wintersend gift.

 

~

 

Darris approaches Serahlin on the sidewalk. 

I’ve been wanting to write this scene for a while, so I finally bit the bullet and just did it. It’s really just a drabble, but it’s Serahlin being a bad ass, which is always good.

Frat/College AU. 

TW for past relationship emotional abuse/manipulation.

* * *

She’s walking home from the house when a familiar voice sounds behind her.

“Hey, Serahlin, wait up.” She doesn’t, in fact, she starts to walk faster. She doesn’t want to talk to him, or be near him, or have anything to do with him. Her heels click faster along the pavement, but as quick as she is in heels, he’s in sneakers and jogs up to her easily enough.

“Hey, babe, you can’t just walk away from me like, it’s rude.”

“Watch me,” she says, side stepping around him. She doesn’t even try to look at Darris, at his ridiculous face with his stupid smile, and the way his hair likes to flop to one side. 

“Baby, you’ve thrown your fit, you’ve had your little spat, now it’s time to get real.”

“I’m about to really hit you, if you don’t back off,” she growls. She’ll do it too. She isn’t one for physical violence, but he approached her on the sidewalk and is refusing to leave her alone. A case could be made for stalking and even assault if he presses his luck.

Which he does. Because he’s an asshole.

“I know you, you couldn’t harm a fly, baby. And besides, you’re not gonna do better than me. Nephew to the Keeper, groomed to go into a booming business, baby, c’mon. I know you don’t like that I sleep with other people, but what do you expect when you don’t put out?” Respect. She can expect respect.

He steps in front of her, blocking her path. She finally looks up at him and grins mischievously.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Darris. I’m already doing  _better than you_. I’m doing  _me,_  a hundred percent of me, which is more than you will ever be for me. So. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” 

He reaches for her, which he should know is a mistake. But then again, he was never the brightest bulb in the box. 

Her hand thrusts up quickly, seizing his fingers, pulling them painfully backwards while she steps forward and brings her knee up to his groin. She adjusts the trajectory of her step quickly enough to come down hand on his foot. He doubles over in pain, loses his balance, and promptly falls over. 

She steps over his cursing, in pain body in her beautiful chartreuse heels, making the rest of her way to her house.

 

~

 

The Black and White party is the last main event before the major event that is the Wintersend Ball. It’s a semi-formal that is traditionally thrown by the Alpha Betas, an Andrastian sorority two streets over from the non-religious sororities, fraternities, and consanguinities. The sorority itself is a holdover from the days before the Evanuris family practically bought the university. And while the Alpha Betas still remain pretty devout, their focus has moved to mostly charity work, and they are currently the most diverse sorority on campus, boasting human, elven, dwarven, and even Vashoth members.

This party’s job is to raise money for the Great Book Drive for the surrounding county’s schools. What it really turns into, however, is a surprisingly debauched and booze soaked affair that has its attendees wondering what happened that night for weeks, and even months, to come.

Normally Serahlin wouldn’t wish to go to such a notorious party, but it is a major social event, and there are still whispers floating around that she isn’t doing so hot since she and Darris broke up. Serahlin can’t have that, because she is doing amazingly well. Her grades are high, her community work is progressing well, she has friends who love and support her – really she has everything going for her. Oh and she was able to snag the most fashionable date for the Wintersend Ball – Tasallir.

So she decides to go, but only with backup from people outside of her sorority. She can’t be the only Dalish woman there, so she calls up Ana that Saturday morning.

“Ana, what are you doing tonight?”

“Homework, then sleep.”

“Oh that’s frightful! Come out with me, I know for a fact that this party will be crazy!” She also called Selene, but the woman was bogged down with work and couldn’t make it (though Serahlin heard someone in the background who sounded very familiar).

She then spent the day shopping for and with Ana. It’s the Black and White party; they have to fit the theme. Which meant little black dresses and matching shoes. The other girls could flirt with white all they wanted, but this party is not meant for white dresses unless you never want to wear it again.

She puts Ana in a short, flowy number and in sequined ballet flats, accessorizing with long layered necklaces and a large silver cuff. She looks darling and surprisingly sexy as she moves and the dress gives glimpses of the nice little shape she has. Perhaps this will kick Vena’s ass in gear. One can only hope.

Serahlin shops around until she finds a body hugging halter number that will go perfectly with her black velvet choker with diamond pendant and what she affectionately calls her bow-shoes.

Satisfied with their purchases, Serahlin takes Ana to her sorority house. The place in somewhat of a chaotic state with all the girls getting ready for the night. They run back and forth with makeup brushes and different outfits to try, begging their sisters’ opinions. They gossip about which guys they want to hook up with, and more than a few gush about Vena.

“Shara said that he’s an amazing kisser.”

“Please, Lissy said he gives even better head.”

“I wonder if he’s into toys.”

“Well I’m sure he’s into threesomes, did you hear about Kelly and Cali?”

Ana’s eye twitches at the gossip and Serahlin quickly escorts her up to her room.

Serahlin takes the bags from Ana and begins to lay out their outfits, adding pieces here and there. Ana stands uncomfortably by the door, her thoughts clearly still remaining on the words of those girls.

“Hookup culture is ridiculous and unnecessarily risky, don’t you think?” She asks. Ana blinks away the fog and nods.

“Yeah, it’s so stupid.”

“And really, sex with a stranger is nothing compared to actual passion between two people who know and love each other.” Serahlin continues, though she’s only guessing at this, she’s never had sex with a stranger. It seems logical, however, given how many people give up the faceless sex hookups for long term relationships.

“Really? Because people sure do seem to enjoy it.”

“Sure they do, it feels good. Look at how much Uthvir and Thenvunin do it, but also look at how they’re together. Uthvir was a one-night stand person, just like Vena, now they’re not.” Serahlin crosses over to Ana and smiles down at her.

“It takes finding the right person to shift like that.”

The girl’s face falls and she turns from Serahlin.

“Oh.”

Serahlin places a finger under Ana’s chin and drags her gaze back to Serahlin’s.

“And you are the right kind of person.” She backs off then and eyes the outfit on the bed, returning her gaze to Ana’s form quickly after.

“How comfortable are you in heels?”

“As comfortable as I am falling on my face.”

“Hmm, a shame. But I think I will borrow one of Nona’s pairs in the car just in case, she’s your size.”

They end up spending hours on their appearances. Serahlin insists on looking as perfect as ever, and she is even more invested in Ana looking hotter tonight than usual. Vena’s going to be at this party, and he won’t probably hook up with Ana, but he will  _see_  her, and he will know exactly what it is he is missing. So she creates a dramatic cat-eye for her and curls Ana’s hair before pulling the front pieces to the back with a beautiful pin. And for added effect, she gives Ana a bold red lip to compliment her hair and bright eyes.

Serahlin gives herself a dramatic smoky eye, and a sinfully dark lip, but she is used to seeing herself like this. Ana seems to just stare at herself in the mirror for minutes, trying to see if it’s really her face underneath all the product.

“Gorgeous,” Serahlin compliments with a smile.

They finish thirty minutes after the party formally began, but Serahlin assures Ana that they’re running perfectly on time. No one arrives to the Black and White party on time.

And like everyone else, they arrive an hour into the party, The house is already vibrating with the music, a dance floor has been set up and some overly eager freshmen are already at the keg.

Serahlin takes Ana’s hand and does the rounds around the party, waving to Thenvunin and Uthvir who are leaning against each other already. She makes a beeline away from Glory and finds herself introducing Ana to some of her sorority friends.

An hour into the party and they round back to the dance floor. Serahlin stops in her tracks and her heart does this odd constricting motion at the sight before her. Adannar is dancing with Mavani and Lionel, sandwiched between them in an almost x-rated preview for what is going to happen later that night. 

Serahlin’s nose wrinkles in distaste. Mavani and Lionel are a couple notorious for luring back to their apartment for threesomes and other lecherous things. She had no idea that Adannar would ever be interested in such a thing.

Serahlin grips her cup a little tighter.

“Serahlin? You okay?” Ana shouts over the music, pulling Serahlin out of her reverie.

“Oh yes, just…is Adannar aware of who those people are?”

Ana looks back at the two who are now pressing their hips very clearly into Adannar’s backside and crotch.

“Well, if he didn’t before, I think he knows now.”

Anger rises within her. Which is…inconvenient…and unexpected. She takes Ana’s hand again.

“Let’s go to the kitchen!”

“But we were just there!”

**

Another hour and two and a half cups of punch later and Serahlin is finally ready to try the dance floor again. She is warm, buzzed, and wants to move her body. She practically drags Ana onto the floor, laughing and already moving her hips to the beat of the song.

“I love this song!” She shouts, mouthing the words as she swivels her hips.

“Go Serahlin!” Ana shouts.

A small crowd gathers around them, cheering them on into a dance haze. This…is exactly what she needs, she thinks. Just, release from all the stress from school and volunteering and Darris. Ugh, Darris. He had to approach her the other day, saying awful things and sowing just the tiniest seed of doubt in her mind.

But here on the dance floor, with the warmth of the alcohol flowing through her, and Ana twirling with her…that doubt couldn’t be farther from her mind.

She turns with the music, spotting a break in the dancing to see Adannar…still dancing with those two.

Unidentifiable frustration wells up within her. This makes no sense! What is this?

A hand lands on her shoulder and she looks down to see Ana smiling at her.

“Go get him!”

“What?!”

“Adannar! You like him! Go. Get. Him!”

She’s about to protest it when Mavani turns to face Adannar, her hand slipping dangerously close to his crotch.

The music fades from her mind as she watches as Adannar sighs and arches just slightly into her touch.  _No._  She knows how he feels for her, it’s been so obvious to her since the necklace incident, and she…she thinks she may actually like him back.

And Serahlin does not share.

She cocks her hip briefly before striding confidently through the sea of people. It almost seems to part for her, her heels coming down in sultry strides, hips swaying as the sea of people moves around her. Her eyes catch Adannar’s and she gives him a small smirk, arching a brow at him. His lips part on a gasp as he follows her as she passes him. 

She looks over her shoulder at him and gives him a devastating smile. He quickly pries himself from Mavani and Lionel and makes his way over to her.

“Serahlin! You look…incredible,” he says, clearly out of breath. She grins and takes his hand.

“Dance with me?”

“Yeah!” He makes to dance with her similar to how she was dancing with Ana, apart and mostly just twirling and swaying. This…will not do.

Still holding his hand, she turns and back up slowly into him.

“S-Serahlin?” He breathes as she presses into his chest. His arms come around her, his mouth ending up near her ear. Her hips swivel and press back, earning her a sound halfway between a moan and a gasp. He presses back, though and his head falls to her shoulder.

“Serahlin…I…is this okay?” He breathes into her ear.

“Mmm, more than okay,” she murmures close to his lips. He moves forward to kiss her, but she turns head at the last moment, leaving him with only jaw to kiss. It doesn’t bother him as he kisses the amazingly sensitive skin there.

His hands wander over her body until settling on her hips, keeping her at pace and a good distance for optimal grinding. Her right hand covers his, while her left reaches back over her head to feel his hair. His amazingly soft hair that she could touch for days.

Adannar begins to move his hips, grinding his pelvis against her bum and she gasps at the sensation. He is…really good at this.

“Adannar….”

“Serahlin, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he breathes into her ear. Oh she can tell how much he wants this alright. As if to convey her understanding, she presses against the hardness beginning to form behind her. He groans and drops his head to her shoulder. Her head turns and she smiles at him.

“How long exactly?” She purrs. He lifts his head, about to answer her when his brow furrows and all movement stops. She wines in protest, trying to press against him more insistently.

“Are you drunk?” He asks.

“No, but I do want to dance, so dance!” She says happily trying again to get him to dance. He moves around her, however. She stumbles over her feet a bit and ends up stumbling into his chest.

“How many drinks have you had?” He shouts over the music. She counts in her head.

“Three? Four?” Someone bumps into her and she falls more into his arms.

“Shit.” He grumbles before securing his arms around her.

“You wanna dance like this? Okay,” she purrs. But he frowns at her and begins to direct her off the dance floor.

“Who’d you come with?” He asks.

“Ana, but she’s probably off with Vena, I hope she’s with Vena, she likes him  _a lot._ ” What is she saying? That…isn’t right. She shouldn’t be saying these things to Adannar. He could tell Vena and that…could be bad?

Adannar pulls her more securely against him as they make their way through the house. She stumbles more than once, but Adannar keeps her up and level.

“Vena’s probably in some closet or something.” He mutters and she wants to tell him that no, Vena shouldn’t be in a closet with anyone, he should be with  _Ana_. Kissing her and telling her how wonderful she is. But maybe he’s in the closet with her?

No, no, Ana wouldn’t be another hookup, she wouldn’t let that happen…would she?

She leans against Adannar, needing him as a support as she scans the crowd for Ana. They find her and Vena on the third floor at last…with a girl that is definitely not Ana in Vena’s lap. Ana sits on the far end of the couch, emergency heels on her feet, staring at her phone and trying not to glance at Vena.

“Nanner!” Adannar calls.

“She’s not going to answer to that!” Serahlin chides, but Ana’s head pops up from her phone and looks directly at Adannar and Serahlin.

She hops up from the couch, stumbles on the heels a bit and carefully steps over to them, “I thought you were dancing!”

“We were! But she’s drunk, Nanner! I can’t…that’s not right. Can you take her home?” Adannar shouts. Ana nods and works to remove Serahlin’s clutch from her wrist.

“No, this is mine,” Serahlin protests.

“I know, I know, I’m doing this for you, I promise,” Ana says calmly. They’re all moving again, heading back where they came.

“I want to dance! Addy, take me dancing? Please?” She asks, leaning against him heavily, trying to get her feet to actually cooperate with her.

“I’ll take you dancing when you’re sober, sweetheart, okay?” He tells her and her belly warms. A giant grin spreads across her face as giggles bubble from her.

“Oh you liiiike me.”

There is…something twitching on Adannar’s face and she thinks it may be a muscle or something but it’s hard to tell, they’re in a darker area of the house…where did all the lights go? Oh wait…they’re outside, when did that happen?

“Oh,” she stumbles over a cobblestone, but Adannar keeps her upright as Ana lead them to Serahlin’s car. Ana fishes into Serahlin’s purse, pulling out her keys with an ‘ah-ha!’

Adannar takes Serahlin to the passenger side, “Noo, Addy, this is my car. I drive it.”

“Ana is your driver tonight, sweetheart, let her take care of you, okay?” He is  _so_  sweet! But why can’t he take care of her?

“No, you take care of me, like when I was sick.” Nothing is making sense, he should be holding her, not putting her in her car with Ana…

“I can’t do that right now, you’re totally sloshed, you should be with Ana.” He closes the door and steps away, waving goodbye while Ana pulls the car away.

“But…I don’t like Ana like that.” She continues to protest. Beside her Ana sighs.

“Yeah, I’m taking you to my apartment tonight, you can’t be trusted at the house.”

“Aaana!”

The drive to Ana’s apartment is long but mostly silent as Serahlin gets distracted by all the lights of the town. She wonders if Adannar is going to go back to dancing with Mavani and Lionel, if he likes dancing with them better. Is she not a good dancer? She really thought he was enjoying himself! He was moaning and gasping and everything!

But the more she thinks about the more her head hurts. Ow.

Soon the lights give way to long stretches of black before pulling into a lighted area. The car slows, shuts off, and then the doors opens and Ana is helping Serahlin out. She helps Serahlin all the way into her apartment, the teeny tiny apartment with a small-ish bed and a very unattractive rug.

“That is a horrid shade of green,” she comments, gesturing vaguely to the rug.

“You helped me pick out this rug!”

“Was I drunk?” It’s hideous! There’s too much yellow, not enough blue, not for Ana. Ana’s greens have blue in them, not yellow.

Ana mumbles something intelligible, then ushers Serahlin into the bathroom. It’s a long process of getting Serahlin’s face washed, her hair put down and then finally changed into an over-sized sweater that apparently Ana just has lying around for some reason. It, too, is hideous, but it is soft and Serahlin supposes that it’s fine for promptly passing out in the middle of Ana’s bed.

 

~

 

The study sessions have been helping a lot. Selene’s grade in History of Circles, as well her other history classes has gone up significantly. Not that that’s really an excuse to slack off, but it’s nice to not have the threat of homelessness breathing down her neck each time she steps through the door.

 

She’s even been able to pick up extra hours at work because she doesn’t have to devote quite as much time to the subject as she once did. She didn’t adjust her budget for the additional funds though. Instead, she’s been sticking them into a locked box in the bottom of her closet so she can afford to get everyone’s Wintersend gifts.

 

Right. Wintersend. 

There’s a dance coming up for it that Serahlin wants her to go to. Not as part of her group this time though. Which is a switch for her, but she understands wanting to go with the most fashionable person, instead. She supposes she could ask Melanadahl since he’s been dropping hints about going stag, but it might give him the wrong idea.

 

She eyes Dirthamen, who is currently pouring himself a glass of Ana’s papaya juice concoction she dropped off on her last visit.

He’s supposed to go to those sorts of events too, right?

 

“Dirthamen,” she starts, “Are you going to the Wintersend ball?”

He turns to look at her, and seems to get stuck halfway to taking a drink. He does manage to lower the cup before anything spills though, and answers “Yes. Everyone from the house is going, I was told.”

“Are you going  _with_ anyone though?”

“Yes.”

Selene tries to ignore the feeling of her throat dropping into her stomach.

“Oh. Right. Obviously. I should’ve-I mean you’re-” she gestures rapidly to all of him “I should have known. Sorry.”

His brow furrows, and he takes a sip of his drink, before he speaks again. “Are you not going with Serahlin and Elanna?”

“Uh, No. Serahlin is going with Tasallir, and Ana mentioned Vena asking her to go, so I’ll probably just,” she shrugs, trying to make it seem casual “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Dirthamen drums his fingers over her counter once, lightly, and his cheeks seem to dust a light pink before he speaks again “Were you attempting to ask me to go with you?”

“I-” Selene rubs the back of her leg with her foot, and tries to look casual, but is fairly certain she’s failing. Miserably. “I mean, if you’re already taking someone it’s not a big deal, I don’t-I didn’t know you were seeing someone, is all. But it’s fine, obviously. I mean we’re-we’re not like,” She gestures vaguely, and almost loses her balance doing so.

“I only meant that I was going with the rest of the house.” Dirthamen mumbles. Selene’s ears perk up, just slightly.

“Oh. Well. Would you-I mean, since you’re not going  _with_  anyone already, or if you’re not waiting for someone else to ask you, would you…maybe like to go? With me?”

“It would not be too much of a date?” he asks, carefully.

“Ah. Well.” Selene tries again to adjust her posture into something even more casual, but by that point she’s fairly certain what she’s doing would be considered closer to slumping, so she just straightens instead “I figure, since Serahlin is going with Tasallir, it doesn’t have to necessarily be a date thing, right? We could go as friends. If you wanted. We could even meet there, if you’d be more comfortable that way.”

“I would enjoy it either way. Thank you,” he answers with a small smile, and Selene pointedly ignores the fluttering sensation it gives her.

 

“Thank  _you_ ,” she replies. Then a thought occurs to her “Serahlin is going to try to coordinate our outfits.”

“Is that an issue?”

“No. Just a warning.”

He seems to consider her words for a moment, and then nods. “I will remember.”

 

Selene feels a bit awkward then, with the silence settling into the room. They had finished the section they had scheduled for today already, but she’s not sure she wants to send him home just yet. She’s still got a few hours before her night class starts.

“Want to grab some dinner? My treat, so long as you’re alright with fast food.”

Dirthamen rinses his cup out before placing it in her sink, and nods.   
“Perhaps we could select something with nutritional value instead and split the bill?”

Selene gives Dirthamen a playful roll of her eyes and grabs her coat “Gods, you sound like Elanna. Alright, picky. You choose the venue then.”

 

Dirthamen ends up taking her to one of the nicer sushi bars in the area, and paying the check while she is off washing her hands.

Selene flicks a piece of rice at him in retribution, and tries to remind herself why they  _aren’t_  dating.

It takes her a lot longer than it used to, to come up with any viable reasons.

 

~

 

Uthvir isn’t a fool, of course. They keep one eye on the resident Evanuris in Thenvunin’s vicinity, for a while.

Nothing overt, or particularly anxious, though. They had a few encounters with Dirthamen back in highschool. He always struck them as withdrawn, possibly even cowardly, but if nothing else, lacking in aggressive or overtly manipulative traits. And they remember walking in on a scene of him getting hit by his brother. The  _smack_  of a fist on flesh, and Dirthamen just standing there and taking it, before Uthvir ducked down a different hall and hurried away.

At the time, they’d mostly just been glad to avoid drawing Falon’Din’s notice. But with adulthood, and the gift of hindsight, they don’t suppose Dirthamen fared any better under his brother’s attentions than anyone else did. And Andruil always talked about him like he was some afterthought to Falon’Din; an accessory, an accompaniment.

A shadow.

Uthvir stops watching Dirthamen before long. They’re fairly certain he doesn’t have any nefarious schemes or intentions hiding up his sleeves. Come to it, he  _barely_  seems to know how to talk to people.

But they’re still a little wary, the first time he outright approaches them.

Wintersend is coming up. Uthvir’s taking Thenvunin, of course. They’re looking forward to finding out what Thenvunin will end up wearing. Based off of his comments they’ve gathered that he’d like to go in a gown, but that he also thinks he’ll get flak for that from some of the other fraternities and that it will ‘hurt his image’. Uthvir’s already offered the obligatory ‘you will look stunning in whatever you pick’ and ‘if anyone makes you feel bad I’ll gouge their eyes out’ reassurances, but those can only go so far.

They’re thinking they might take him out again afterwards, if he needs it. There are some fancy Tevene restaurants in the city that don’t harbour any odd ideas about skirts and gender, they could probably take him to one of those with less fuss. Let him wear whatever he wants, and then take it off of him afterwards.

Not that he’d look bad in a suit, though. They’re musing on the possibilities there, and looking after Thenvunin’s finches in the main room while he takes a much-needed nap, when Dirthamen approaches them.

Flower is helping to watch the finches. She looks up at him and gives her happy ‘hello’ bark, before she goes back to staring at the cage, and slowly wagging her tail every time a bird chirps.

“Uthvir,” Dirthamen greets.

Uthvir nods at him, sitting up a little more, and folding their arms.

They wait.

“I wish to… that is, I saw you a few days ago, with your sibling. Dancing,” he asserts. “Thenvunin says you danced with him afterwards as well. I did not realize that there were such dances that included unshifted or even non-mage partners. My own instructor taught only myself and my brother, and made no mention of such dances.”

Uthvir raises an eyebrow, and glances at the finches, as one flutters up towards a higher point in their cage. They’re very talkative today; hence their needing a babysitter. Chirping and tweeting, and hopping over to the front of the cage to drop the occasional seed towards Flower.

Who is learning not to eat things without permission, and dutifully sniffs the seeds, but doesn’t gobble them up.

Uthvir gives her head an approving pat.

“I didn’t realize you danced in such a fashion at all,” they reply.

“It was considered a necessary diversion,” Dirthamen says. “My brother did not care for it, but he was very talented at it, just the same. I showed less aptitude, and so was generally given the secondary or adversarial roles.”

Well.

Uthvir knows that story.

“And you want to know how to dance in that style with someone who has no training in it?” they surmise. There’s an obvious possibility there, given all of the latest rumours and gossip, and what’s been setting Glory into a tizzy, too. “Selene?”

Dirthamen shifts on his feet.

“I am accompanying Selene to the Wintersend Ball. There is often space and allowance for creative forms of dance at that event. I do not know if she would have an interest yet, but I cannot make the suggestion if I am incapable of managing the task. So I was wondering if you would be willing to show me the dance which you and Thenvunin performed,” he reasons.

Uthvir gives it a moment, and examines the Evanuris for any signs of guile or duplicity. Fear perks up a little, and does its part. Gathering faint impressions, but there’s nothing of real concern in any of them that they can see. Just an awkward mage trying to figure out how to use his talents to impress someone he likes.

“And what do I get in return, if I show you?” they wonder. Dealing with members of this family is dangerous; doing them favours, however, can be even moreso. They’re like genies, Uthvir thinks. You have to make certain you get the words exactly right, or else all your wishes and dealings will turn to fire and dust.

“I could pay you?” Dirthamen suggests. “I know the usual rates for such lessons.”

Simple enough, they suppose. And they could always use more of their own money; their mother trusts most of the funds to Glory, who isn’t stingy, but  _is_  nosy.

Maybe they could buy Thenvunin some jewellery to go with his suit, if he ends up wearing one. Make him feel like he’s still dressed to the nines, even without swaths of fabric fluttering behind him. They know a few students with Etsy stores who’d appreciate the business, too.

“Alright,” they agree. “When did you want to do it?”

Dirthamen’s posture relaxes, just slightly, and they begin to go over both of their schedules, to work out a suitable time and place.

~

In the end, Dirthamen books the use of a studio for them well away from campus grounds. The cordoned off sections which had been made available to students for a brief window of time have since been closed. Uthvir deliberates, but eventually ends up telling Thenvunin who they’re with and where they’re going in case they end up dead in a ditch somewhere. It seems less likely to end in  _unnecessary_  murder and mayhem than trying to tell Glory or Squish that they plan to let an Evanuris get them somewhere remote and private for several hours in the dead of night.

Thenvunin just thinks it’s nice that they’re willing to help a bro out.

And also wants to come along. But Uthvir’s pretty sure that Dirthamen doesn’t need any more audience than is strictly necessary, so they turn him down on that front for now, and simply make their way with Dirthamen to the reserved studio. It’s a good space; open enough for what they need, and warded sufficiently for this kind of dance. Uthvir has Dirthamen take up the wingless position first, and goes over the basic choreography, before pulling out their wings and launching into it with him. Guiding him along, just like Thenvunin, or the new students they used to be assigned to in class.

Dirthamen is a good, steady partner. His movements are economical, and he focuses carefully on them as they demonstrate and explain. The first round goes very smoothly.

Then they switch.

Dirthamen brings out his own wings. They’re about as big as Glory’s, and dark. Inky-black and smooth, almost more like liquid than feathers. Like a dark converse to Glory’s bright, eagle wings. Shadowy raven ones. For a moment, Uthvir feels intensely self-conscious of their own plainer appendages. It seems that even as a  _shadow,_  they left something to be desired. But they force the errant thought away, along with their own wings.

They’re here to make money, not comparisons.

“Alright. Keep it simple,” they advise, and take Dirthamen’s hand to start him off.

The second segment proves far less promising than the first. Uthvir almost regrets their initial advice; Dirthamen is much, much too tentative, and over-thinks his movements excessively. They’re almost surprised that he’s had previous instruction. But he knows forms and how to move, for the most part. He just can’t innovate very well, or at least, he’s too uncomfortable to try. Uthvir manages to startle him into the air a couple of times, but for the most part, he keeps coming back down and keeping his wings back. Confusedly trying to turn the movements into a more traditional dance, or else backing away and withdrawing.

After a few rounds of this, Uthvir has them switch back, and tries to be more demonstrative and explicit in their explanations. By the end of the evening, though, they can tell that they’re going to have to come back a few times if Dirthamen is going to do anything other than show off his wings and then awkwardly waltz with Selene.

“When did you start lessons?” Uthvir wonders, as they pack up their things.

“We were six,” Dirthamen replies. They blink, and then recall – right. Twins. For some reason they keep thinking Dirthamen was a year or two younger, or something. Which makes no sense, because that’s Andruil’s age, and so far as Uthvir knows, they have all the same parents.

Dirthamen as  _Andruil’s_  twin seems even more incongruous, somehow.

“How long has it been since you practiced?” they ask, and then all at once realize the likely answer.

Dirthamen shrugs.

Ah. Right. Probably not since…

Uthvir wonders if they should feel guilty. It feels more surreal than anything, though. Dirthamen looks like Falon’Din, but not remarkably so. He’s almost like a mirror reverse image of his brother, in fact. Dark where Falon’Din had been light, light where Falon’Din had been dark… they let out a breath, and settle their hands onto their hips.

“You’re terrible,” they say. “We’ll have to come back, if you’re still interested in pursuing this.”

Dirthamen considers, for a moment. But he doesn’t lose his temper. He doesn’t even seem hurt, or offended at all. He just nods in agreement.

“There should be time. I can afford to keep the studio booked, and pay the same rate for further instruction,” he decides. “One dance should be sufficient, for now. I would like to accomplish this, I think. Thenvunin seemed quite taken with your approach…”

Uthvir raises an eyebrow. Their smirk is, perhaps, a little softer than usual.

“Selene might not be the same,” they point out.

“She might not,” Dirthamen concedes. But it’s with the air of someone who really hopes they’ve stumbled upon something that might just work.

Uthvir shrugs, and lets it be. They can manage a few more lessons, they think, without Glory starting to get suspicious. And that would be enough money to buy Thenvunin a few suitable gifts,  _and_  pay for a very nice dinner with him, too.

They shake on it, and head back. Turning the matter over in their mind a few times. They might have more success if they had someone else, too. Someone who could stand in for Selene – which is, admittedly, the easiest part – while Uthvir helped Dirthamen. It might be especially good if they had someone with a low level of experience. They’re not certain if Selene’s had any dance lessons, but given that she’s Dalish and attending on work programs and scholarships, they’re going to guess not. Probably wiser to err on the side of caution, anyway.

Thenvunin could do it. But then they think of Dirthamen’s magical, midnight wings, and…

Thenvunin’s busy, anyway. And Uthvir wants to surprise him with some presents. He might extrapolate some things based off of the lessons even existing, or going on for so long. That wouldn’t do. Besides which, Thenvunin would be distracting for them. So he’s out. Squish and Glory are also out of the question, for obvious reasons. Maybe Dirthamen knows someone?

…Or maybe not.

Anyone who helped should probably get some of the payment, they suppose. Who needs money? There’s that girl. Ana. She works hard; though Uthvir wonders if she would have the time. They resolve to ask they next time they see her. Between their schedules and Dirthamen’s, it’s going to be a few days before their next meet-up.

They stop by the House the next day. Thenvunin is attempting to cook dinner for himself and Vena, and a few others. Not Ana, though, unfortunately. Uthvir has a class with her the next day, though, so they suppose they can ask her there. And in the meantime, they can enjoy the sight of Thenvunin in a peacock-themed apron, carefully following the instructions on the backs of several boxes to produce a meal comprised, amusingly, of scalloped potatoes, instant mac-and-cheese, and rehydrated spicy noodles.

“Bro,” Vena says. “…Is this like awkward unhealthy vegetarian night…?”

Tasallir emerges from the wings, and almost immediately turns around and starts dialling a number on his phone.

“It’s what we had in the kitchen!” Thenvunin protests.

The food looks like the pictures on the boxes, anyway. Uthvir shrugs, and grabs a plate for themselves. They doubt anyone else will be eating a lot of it, Tasallir’s probably calling for delivery right now, and they’ve got a vacuum-sealed packet of homemade jerky back in their room if they need it.

“Too many starches, bro,” Vena is insisting.

“Well there wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been eating  _handfuls of bacon_  for lunch!”

“How would bacon make this meal better?” Tasallir sniffs.

“Bro. Bro,  _no,_  bacon makes  _everything_  better!” Vena insists.

Uthvir helps themselves to the mac-and-cheese and the other, differently flavoured noodles. Scalloped potatoes are generally disgusting, but they take a tiny spoonful of those, too. Because of reasons. They hurried eat those first, and they’re not… as bad as some which Uthvir has had before, they think. Chasing them down with half a water bottle, and then trying the others, which are bland but still entirely edible. Way better than their mother’s few attempts at domesticity. Or Glory’s. Or Squish’s, actually.

Uthvir can cook. It’s all good, no one starves.

Thenvunin slumps down beside them on the couch. Then he glances over at their plate. His cheeks pink, a little.

“You don’t have to eat that,” he says, shifting around awkwardly.

Uthvir shrugs.

“I’m hungry,” they reply. “Thanks for making food. It’s good.”

“See!” Thenvunin snaps back towards Vena. “It’s perfectly fine, bro, you’re all just too picky! Potatoes are healthy, I read an article about it!”

Vena raises his hands, while Tasallir just looks coldly disdainful of the empty boxes still lining the counter. Thenvunin scoops himself up a bowl of mac-and-cheese, and Uthvir opts not to mention that dehydrated potatoes and whatever the good people at Fereldan Instant Dinners are trying to pass off as ‘cheese’ probably don’t count for much in terms of nutritional value. Instead they just bump his shoulder and start an argument about what to watch on the X-Box, until the doorbell rings.

Then Vena launches into some kind of bizarre ritual with Tasallir, whereby Tasallir goes to get it, and Vena ends up distracting him somehow, and paying the delivery guy, and then Tasallir pretends like he didn’t know that was a blatant distraction tactic – Uthvir’s going to go ahead and call bullshit on that, Venavismi is not a subtle man – and gets all offended at Vena for paying, and Vena says that this just gives him an excuse to share, even though Tasallir would have to eat like a starving wolverine to get through even half of the order of cartons and foil packages that are in the massive brown paper bag left behind.

Adannar emerges from somewhere at that point, and goes to fill up Flower’s food dish.

“Ooh, take-away! Thanks, Vena,” he says.

“Taz ordered it,” Vena replies, and starts setting it out, while Thenvunin scowls and defiantly sticks his fork into the mac-and-cheese.

Uthvir polishes off their own plate, and watches Thenvunin dejectedly move macaroni noodles around.

“Want to go out?” they ask him.

“No,” he says. “We’re watching Netflix. We’re doing Netflix and chill.”

Vena snorts, and Adannar does a double-take.

Uthvir raises an eyebrow.

“You know that’s a euphemism for sex, right?” they ask. Because that’s uncommonly brazen of him, especially out loud and right in front of his friends.

Thenvunin stares.

“What?” he asks. “No! Why would it – sig, c’mon, not everything’s about  _sex_ , my bros are  _right there-“_

“I’m not making it up, babe, I promise. That’s what it means.”

“That can’t be right. Why would you even use that as a euphemism? What if someone actually just wanted to watch Netflix and chill, what would you even say?” Thenvunin asks, aghast.

“ _Thank you!”_  Tasallir exclaims, much to Uthvir’s surprise. But then he just turns back to his frankly delicious-smelling take-away, while Thenvunin turns and flings an arm over the back of the couch, and gestures at the others.

“Bros, come on, back me up here!” he asks.

“Can’t do,” Vena offers.

“Yeah. Sorry, Thenvunin,” Adannar throws in. “It’s definitely a euphemism. Kind of a well-known one at this point, too.”

Thenvunin’s face flushes even harder, and Vena snickers.

“It’s okay, bro. We know what you meant,” he offers.

“Though if you want…” Uthvir says, and grins as Thenvunin whips around and fixes them with what he probably hopes is a quelling look. He’s really too flustered for it, though, and instead it comes off a little wild around the edges. After a few seconds, he throws up his hands.

“Well now I can’t enjoy it!” he says. “Get your coat, signif, we’re going out to hang instead.”

“If you insist, babe,” they reply, still unrepentantly grinning at him. They reach over and pluck at the side of the apron to remind him to take it off before they go, and he bats their hand away, provoking a few snickers as he promptly strips it off himself. They end up having to wait for him to refill the food dispensers of his finches, though, and then of course he has to explain to them where he’s going and tell them to be good birds and all.

It’s cute.

Then they finally get out of the door and pile into his car. A few snowflakes drift down, and Uthvir glances at Thenvunin’s sneakers.

“You need boots,” they opine.

“It’s cool,” he insists. “The last storm was a fluke, anyway. Weather reports said so.”

Uthvir glances at him.

“You hate boots,” they surmise.

Thenvunin hesitates, and then shrugs.

“They never fit my calves. I’m getting a custom pair sent but I didn’t think I’d need them, so, it’s taking a while,” he admits. “I tried a pair on from the human section of a Fashion Depot but the soles just  _killed_  my arches, sig. It’s like, how do humans stand it? Their feet don’t look that different. And dwarves, too. I don’t get it. Vashoth make decent shoes but then it’s the opposite problem, plus like nobody around here sells them or if they  _do_ , it’s always in the ‘standard’ sizes and I’m a big dude but I’m not  _that_  big. I asked Serahlin if she could ask some of her sorority contacts if anyone knows a good work-around but she hasn’t gotten back to me yet. It was only a couple of days ago, though,” he says.

“I could make you some,” Uthvir offers.

Thenvunin blinks.

“…What?” he asks, like he thinks he must have heard wrong.

It’s not quite jewellery, they suppose, but they can get the supplies pretty cheap and still have plenty leftover for more frivolous things.

“I make my own boots,” they explain. “Like you said, it’s hell to find good elven footwear. Do you want a pair? I don’t know how long it’d take, but if you give me your measurements I can do my best.” They could rush it, they think. Pull a few all-nighters. It’s not that hard and Fear kind of shuts up a bit when they’re sleep-deprived anyway.

Thenvunin glances down at their feet, before looking back at the road.

“…Do you know how to make them without spikes?” he wonders.

Uthvir snickers.

“Yeah, babe,” they say. “I can make ‘em without spikes.”

That more or less settles things, then. Uthvir starts tallying up a mental list of things they’ll need, and asks a few questions about what kinds of colours Thenvunin might like. Unsurprisingly, this ends up being ‘plenty’. They don’t think they’re quite wrathful enough to do tie-dye rainbow sparkle boots, though. And they think even Thenvunin might draw the line somewhere.

Presumably.

The conversation turns back towards food when Thenvunin ends up driving them to one of his favourite restaurants, and they agree to split the bill. Ess’ bar serves a really good spread, considering it’s also really top notch on the alcohol, too.

“So what was with the ‘I-pay-you-pay’ song and dance with Tasallir and Venavismi?” they wonder, after they’ve placed their orders.

Thenvunin blinks, and then shrugs.

“Oh. That. I dunno, I think Tasallir’s been having money troubles or something,” he reasons.

Uthvir raises their eyebrows.

“Really?” they wonder. Well that’s… interesting.

Thenvunin shrugs again.

“He doesn’t really confide in me, sig. But it’s a new thing, and Vena’s been pretty adamant on it, and they’re not dating or anything. So. Stands to reason, I mean, unless they  _are_  dating, but I think I’d notice if they were. Plus Tasallir did that whole Ace Awareness thing, and he says he’s not into romance? So I guess they wouldn’t be doing anything with… y’know. Exchanging favours, and stuff.”

Uthvir swallows, as Thenvunin shuffles a bit and takes a sudden interest in the drinks menu. Right. This stuff again. They haven’t really… talked about it, they suppose.

They probably should.

Since they’re actually dating now, and everything.

How to do it, though? They resist the urge to tap their nails against the tabletop, and look out one of the windows instead. It’s dark enough that they can’t see much, except for the steadily gathering bits of snow along the sill. There are some framed paintings on the wall alongside it. Student art. No real theme, it seems, except for ‘a lot of it’. They spy some price tags on the bottom, and realize that the paintings must be for sale on consignment or something.

Huh.

They wonder if Aelynthi knows about that.

_You’re changing the subject to avoid it, just so you know._

They let out a breath, and run a hand through their hair.

“Sex doesn’t work on a barter system. You know that, right, babe?” they say, as gently as they can.

Thenvunin blinks at them, and then his cheeks colour and he glances around at the bar.

“Signif,” he protests.

“No one can hear,” they promise him. “I’m just saying. Whoever told you that, that paying for a meal or being able to lift more, or being older or more experienced or whatever… whoever told you that stuff was a lying sack of shit, and if I ever get my hands on them I’m going to tear them a new asshole and then shove their own fucking head-“

They swallow, biting back what has swiftly turned from gentle reassurance into a wrathful tirade, and make themselves count slowly backwards from ten.

Thenvunin looks a little taken aback.

“Calm down!” he says, lowly. “Uthvir. C’mon. What the hell? Everybody knows that stuff.”

Uthvir’s retort is cut off, then, by the arrival of their server with a tray full of hot food.

Which is probably a good thing, because they don’t think their immediate, unconsidered response of ‘no, your ex – or possibly many exes – just happened to be  _shit’_  would really help get this conversation back on track.

Because the track is not how angry this makes them, they remind themselves.

It’s what it’s done to Thenvunin.

They’re quiet for a minute, as Thenvunin looks like he’s dearly hoping the conversation will be done now, and glances uncertainly out at the restaurant before taking a bite from his burger. Uthvir sucks in a long breath, and lets it out through their mouth.

“That ‘stuff’ is what  _scumbags_  say to coerce people into doing stuff they’re not comfortable with or into,” they finally settle on. Baby steps. Thenvunin’s looking like he wants to be anywhere but here right now, and that’s not the point. They take in another breath, and try to unclench.

“Not all relationships are the same,” Thenvunin says, quietly.

“…No,” Uthvir agrees.  _Some of them are bad._  “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m not mad at you or anything, that wasn’t what I meant. Let’s change the subject,” they suggest.

Thenvunin nods, and despite himself, it seems, looks almost painfully relieved.

~

It’s around nine o’clock by the time they get back to the House. Thenvunin invites them over for the night, and then frets about covering up his finch cage. Uthvir passes Adannar sitting on the couch, the leftover scalloped potatoes in his lap and a fork in his hand as he watches some rowing contest or another on the television. Flower woofs a hello and comes over to sniff at them, and then goes back to trying to convince Adannar that scalloped potatoes are totally puppy-safe food.

Most everyone seems to have either gone out or taken to their rooms. They pass by Tasallir’s, discreetly, and note that the door’s open a crack; and the elf in question is sitting at his desk.

They knock at it.

There’s a pause, and some shuffling. Tasallir comes to the doorway, and then stares down at them in surprise.

“Uthvir,” he correctly identifies. Then he glances down the hallway, as if Uthvir is a stray pet or lost child and he’s attempting to locate their Responsible Adult.

They fold their arms.

“A little bird told me you were in need of cash,” they say.

Tasallir frowns, and takes a wary step back.

“Who?” he asks. Then he shakes his head. “Nevermind. It was Venavismi, wasn’t it? I’m not in  _desperate_  need, no matter what he might have implied. He’s being melodramatic…”

Uthvir raises a forestalling hand.

“It’s nothing untoward, Tasallir,” they say, and are a little surprised when he actually seems to take that assurance at face-value, and his shoulders lose some of their intense rigidity.

Only some, though.

“I need someone to help with a few discreet dance lessons for Dirthamen,” they assert.

“Formal?” Tasallir wonders.

They nod.

He frowns, and shakes his head.

“I have only had a few basic lessons myself,” he admits. “They were not considered a necessary part of my curriculum.”

“That’s perfect,” Uthvir assures him. “I need to see what kind of pitfalls Dirthamen might fall into with an inexperienced partner. If you show up, I can give you one third of the lesson fee he’s paying me…” They outline the fees, and Tasallir steadily goes from wary and suspicious, to a little bit more confident, and a little bit more interested.

By the time Thenvunin comes looking for them, he’s more or less agreed.

“I’ll have to reschedule some things,” he allows. “But it should be doable.”

“Good,” they agree.

Thenvunin glances between the two of them worriedly, before letting Uthvir turn and draw him back into the hall, and then on to his own room again. One of his arms comes around them, to their surprise; resting around their waist in a mirror of the gesture that has become more or less habitual for them. They raise an eyebrow at him, and slip one of their own hands into the pocket of his pants.

“What were you scheduling with Tasallir?” he asks.

They shrug.

“Dirthamen needs more dance lessons,” they explain. “Tasallir’s going to help.”

“…Oh,” Thenvunin says, and lets out a breath.

They raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why, babe? Did you think he’d taken to prostitution or something?” they wonder.

He scowls at them.

“Of course not, signif!” he protests. “It’s just – y’know. He’s. Well. He’s got a really strong eyeliner game, and he dresses like a model, and everyone knows he’s got that whole ‘classical elven beauty’ thing going on, like how Serahlin and Aelynthi do, too. It’s a good jam to have. I can see where he might turn a few heads, or something.”

Uthvir leans into him, as they make their way into his room.

“I’m not that into classical elven beauty,” they say. Glory won that contest fair and square, and Uthvir doesn’t have much of a desire to date anyone who  _also_  competes with their sibling for attention. “Your brand of hotness is much more my speed.”

Thenvunin leans back into them a little more, then, and lets them prove it to him.

~

Tasallir is fairly good at following instructions, and, like Dirthamen, tends to be very literal and direct about them.

They are a  _terrible_  dance pair.

Uthvir kind of marvels at it, a little. They’d always thought that they were more or less mediocre at this. And they would never suppose that Tasallir, who isn’t a mage and hasn’t had formal instruction, would precisely excel at it. But Dirthamen’s got a few solid years of lessons under his belt – around a decade’s worth, in fact – and Tasallir had at least given the impression that he knew what dancing  _was._  And yet it’s like watching a neurotic bat try to figure out how to get past an intractable store mannequin.

They almost wish they were filming it. But that would provide evidence of them having sustained interactions with Dirthamen, which is something they’re trying to avoid. He seems like an okay guy. He probably doesn’t deserve what would come of that.

By the third lesson, they’ve acquired a whistle, and have taken to just blasting it every time Dirthamen starts touching the ground when he shouldn’t. They draw out a literal map for Tasallir, which actually seems to help him a lot with the whole ‘moving’ thing; the man is graceful when he knows what he’s doing, but he requires instruction that boils down to a level a minutiae that Uthvir never would have anticipated.

They throw another hour onto the lessons, and start working on parts of Thenvunin’s boots for the bits where they only need to be verbal. Dirthamen does better with demonstrations and Tasallir does better with instructions, and somewhere along the way they find themselves throwing in some half-hearted ballroom lessons for Tasallir, because they’re desperately hoping that Selene at least has Thenvunin-esque instincts for knowing how to move, and they feel  _badly_  about marooning Tasallir in the middle of this.

Even if he  _is_  getting paid.

Tasallir sort of repays them by giving them a set of mother-of-pearl buttons from a shirt he’d worn out, too. Apparently the mother-of-pearl is unfashionable, but he doubts Thenvunin will care. Uthvir’s inclined to agree, and the buttons end up adding some very nice flare, they think, to the water-and-stain-resistant white leather they’ve been using. Glory complains about them working at night on the project, but mostly because of the smell.

Uthvir’s still a little mad at them, though, so they just cheerfully remind their sibling that they have a fiancée and can also probably afford a hotel room, if they really want it.

“If this is your  _subtle_  way of trying to chase me out so you can have Dear Thenvunin over, you can just  _say,”_  Glory grouses.

Uthvir glances sideways at them.

“Don’t call him that,” they say; and are a little surprised when Glory actually seems to reconsider, and then stops with it.

By the time Dirthamen is no longer floundering around Tasallir like an embarrassment, and Tasallir is cutting a rug with surprising finesse, Thenvunin’s boots are done. Which is good, because his others haven’t arrived yet, and winter is really getting into the swing of things. The boots are very soft, and full of as much spellwork as Uthvir has ever managed to shove into a pair without ruining them. They have the mother-of-peal buttons on the top, and a few of the smaller ones down the sides, but they’re just decorative. The actual, functional parts of the boot have zippers, discreetly hidden behind a few flaps. Overall, they are creamy and soft and neutral, and Thenvunin should be able to wear them with most of his other winter clothes.

But they’re missing something.

Uthvir ponders the matter for a bit, before inspiration strikes. Then they shift out their wings, and carefully retrieve a decently-sized feather – it stings, but it’s fine – and trace it onto the soles of each shoe. They seal the paint, and then nod in satisfaction, before shoving them into a spare box. It’s a day and a half before they can actually see Thenvunin and give them to him, though. Everyone’s more or less caught up in their flurries of activity. When they can finally steal a spare moment it ends up being early morning; they swing by the House on the way to their most tedious Economics class, and give the box to a bleary-eyed Thenvunin while Vena’s busy making breakfast shakes.

“Boots,” they say.

Thenvunin blinks, and somehow Uthvir finds a kale smoothie foisted upon them – “Ana’s recipe, she actually knows how to make them taste good!” – as their boyfriend opens the box.

His jaw drops.

That’s a nice reaction, Uthvir decides. They lean up and kiss his cheek.

“Uthvir,” Thenvunin says, urgently. “Uthvir, these are  _beautiful.”_

_They are beautiful._

They grin at him.

“I’m glad you approve, babe.”

“No, but like – these are really,  _really_  gorgeous, Uthvir. They’re…” Thenvunin trails off, looking one over. He fingers the buttons and runs his hands over the leather, and then flips it up and goes quiet as he inspects the soles. Vena lets out a low whistle, and before long everyone is inspecting the boots, which is… not really what Uthvir expected.

Thenvunin’s still being oddly quiet about the whole thing by the time they realize that they have to leave.

“Sib, Uthvir, do you take commissions? Because Serahlin-” Adannar starts.

“These are actually  _very nice,”_  Tasallir says, staring at them like he can’t quite believe it. He looks at Uthvir’s own boots, and seems sort of pained.

“Wait, you  _made_  them? I thought you just bought them…” Vena says.

“They’re just for Thenvunin,” Uthvir asserts, with a shrug. “He needed a pair. Babe, I have to run. I’ll see you later?” they say, glancing at him only to find that his expression has become a little inscrutable. He swallows, and then straightens; and then he moves over, and dips down, and kisses them.

It’s a really nice kiss.

He settles his hands on their shoulders and leans into it, and they tilt up towards it; winding their own arms around his waist, as something in them just  _unfurls._

_I guess this means the boots are a hit?_

“My mother is going to adore you,” Thenvunin says.

They snort, even as he looks like he wants to swallow his own tongue, and takes a swift step back. Clearing his throat and snatching his boots back from Vena.

Uthvir winks at him.

“I’m glad,” they say, simply.

They try not to look too giddy as they finally make their way out of the door.

 

~

 

Selene has very vivid dreams, since the age of 16.

She mostly blames it on her freeloader, but she blames a lot of things on him, in the end.

Often, it means reflecting on things in the quiet night of her apartment is her best shot at an outlet.

She thinks about Dirthamen frequently, these days. It didn’t use to be an issue, but ever since she wandered into the frat house unannounced on a Thursday…

Well.

She thinks maybe she understands why those Hunters-in-Fur calendars were passed around the camp so much, now.

 

Not that the overly muscled is really her type. She much prefers the smoother planes of Dirthamens chest to Adannars. He certainly _has_ muscles though, so perhaps she’s being unfair. Maybe ‘toned’ would be more accurate?

She thinks of her hands running over his upper arms, and the solid but pliant flesh she had felt beneath them.

Yes, toned is probably a more appropriate word to use.

 

Knowing now that he had in fact not been thinking of Serahlin, Selene regrets not paying more attention to the situation while it was happening. His lips were quite nice. They felt wonderful moving down her neck, and thinking about it lights her nerves on fire, and she squirms in her bed.

She probably should have worn pants.

 

She trails her hand slowly down her stomach, and pretends for a moment that it’s his instead. Nimble, but sturdy she imagines. She thinks of his fingers brushing against hers when he hands her coffees in the morning, or the way she’s seen him gracefully trace glyphsin the air when he’s particularly zoned out. She attempts to mimic some of the motions. She’s not quite so agile in her motions, but she closes her eyes and remembers his gasp when she kissed his neck, and it shoots a bolt of heat through her. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to contain her own noises.

 

She allows herself to pretend for a moment that she hadn’t stopped him. That she had been more comfortable. That she had waited for him, instead of caving to…well, let’s not let him spoil things. She bends her leg, and her other hand drifts slowly up her thigh, as Dirthamen’s had. He is so quiet. He would have been so gentle, she thinks, allowing her hands to move closer to her core. Perhaps he would have taken his time. Perhaps he would have used his mouth somewhere less appropriate than her neck. She indulges for a moment, imagines his lips ghosting down her collar bones, her breasts, her nipples, her stomach. Lower, even, until he reached right where she wanted him, where she had never really wanted anyone else, and-

Selene smells smoke, and her eyes shoot open.

Her sheets are on fire.

 

“Shit,  _shit_!” She yells, jumping out of bed. She grabs the nearest object and uses it to pat out the flames as fast as she can. It’s only after it’s been entirely ruined that she realizes it was her notebook. For Professor Irvings class.

  
“Good going Selene,” she mumbles. Her eyes glance over to her phone, sitting on her bedside.

…

Dirthamen likes magic, right?

She sends him a text at 12:30am on a Tuesday.

 

~

 

Serahlin wakes up with a pounding headache. She flinches at the light spilling into the room, slowly moving her face deeper into the pillow beneath her head. 

Drinking was a bad idea, why does she do this? She knows that her and alcohol don’t really mix, and yet she continues to every now and then imbibe too much and wake up the next morning in severe pain.

She groans again and tries to shift into a more comfortable position. Her body feels abnormally large and slow, the muscles sluggish to respond to her commands.

“Serahlin….” a softly singing voice sounds. She lets out a louder noise of protest only to flinch at the noise herself. Ouch. 

“I made you coffee, Serahlin…”

Coffee? She scooches her head to the side to open an eye. There’s Ana standing by the bed, holding a mug that says  _I Like Big Fronds and I Cannot Lie_. Sigh, botany humor. 

But the coffee  _does_  smell delicious, and it slowly lures Serahlin over to the side of the bed. She reaches up to take the mug, only to have Ana step to the side.

“Nope, no coffee in bed, you’ll get it everywhere and those are the only sheets I have. C’mon, get up.”

This is cruel, Serahlin thinks, grumbling and fighting with the sheets. Her legs slowly kick the sheets off and move to the cold edge of the bed.

She whines at the uncomfortable cold, slowly raising herself into a sitting position. Ana is stepping away, nodding her head and pointing at the coffee. Really, Serahlin understands, if these were her only sheets…she would probably be terribly upset but she would also be protective of them, like her little botanist to be. 

Nevertheless, Serahlin makes an unflattering grunting noise and heaves herself off of the bed. The world moves a bit before quickly righting itself. She wobbles a bit…and then settles back down. 

“Give me the coffee,” her tongue feels thick and heavy, her speech is horrifying and she is simply glad that it is only Ana witnessing her in this state. 

Later, when Serahlin will have all of her faculties to process what happened, she will be horrified that even Ana saw her like this. But as for right now, she waddles over to the small, rickety table and takes the mug away from Ana, slowly sipping its warm contents. 

It is hot, but delicious, and exactly what a hangover calls for. Well, that and eggs. Eggs would be nice. Oh and a croissant from that little bakery just outside of the reservation…

Serahlin looks over at Ana, who is just…staring at her. 

“I know I look awful, you don’t have to stare,” she mutters, going back to her coffee.

“Oh no, it’s not that, I was just…that is wondering…um.” 

Well, this has to be good. Serahlin sets the mug down and tries to open her eyes up as much as possible to look at Ana. 

“Hmm?”

“What’s going to happen with you and Adannar now?” 

Serahlin’s brow furrows, “Why would anything happen…with…Adannar…” just as she begins to speak, bits and pieces of the night come back to her. Grinding against Adannar, his lips against her jaw, hands on her hips, voice moaning and gasping…him calling her ‘sweetheart.’ 

She makes a noise that could be classified as a squeak in some circles. 

“Oh…I…” what  _will_  happen? She’s never done something like this before, it’s rather…unbecoming and unflattering to be publicly intoxicated. Why had she had so much to drink?

Flashes of Mavani and Lionel pressing up against Adannar also resurface and her nails dig at the ceramic mug. 

_Oh._

She sniffs and takes another long sip. She was jealous, how…odd. Well, not entirely odd, Adannar is a wonderful guy and she likes him, she’s known she likes him, just not…in this capacity, she guesses. 

The thought of him with someone else…she doesn’t like it. And if she doesn’t like it, she needs to do something about it that doesn’t include drinking suspicious punch. 

“I will need to call him at some point.” She knows this, but when is such an important question. Waiting until tomorrow seems entirely too rude, but then again, it’s tomorrow, where she’ll be hangover free and able to articulate better.

But it’s Adannar, he’ll spend the entire day fretting over what’s happened if she doesn’t reassure him.

“What will you say?” Ana asks.

“I don’t know. Should I apologize? I don’t want to tell him that I…something like that should not be discussed over the phone.” And she is in no state to be seen any time soon. The more awake she gets, the more aware she becomes of exactly how gross she is. She only managed to wipe her face of makeup, so she still feels the dried vestiges of eyeliner and foundation. Her hair is matted from sweat, hair spray, and tossing and turning apparently. 

She doesn’t want to even contemplate her breath.

Ana sighs and shrugs, “But what are you now?”

“I think we are still friends, hopefully, if I didn’t insult him too much last night with my blundering.” She flinches as more parts of the night come back to her. Pressing up against Adannar, falling against him as she walks through the house…

And yet she focuses on his voice, lips moving to form the word ‘sweetheart.’ Her heart flutters and she finds herself wondering if his lips are soft, like his hair.

She waits for the weird feeling of guilt to come in, for the confusion to arrive, but it doesn’t. She wants to know if Adannar’s lips are soft and she doesn’t feel guilty about it. And it’s like surfacing from the deep, breaking over the top of the water and seeing land not far away. She doesn’t know when this happened, only that it did.

Serahlin is finally free of Darris.

Her mind wanders to the feel of his hands on her body and she…feels herself warm at the idea. She had asked for time, and he had given it to her. She had asked for respect. He had given it. He had never pressured her, never called her  _just_  his friend, but simply his friend. He had taken care of her when she was sick, holding her to his warm chest as she shivered. 

“I think I really like him, Ana,” Serahlin murmurs. Ana breaks out into a wide grin.

“Ah! We all knew, but it’s so good for  _you_  to know now! And he’s totally head over heels for you, I mean, he let you name his dog.” 

Serahlin’s brow draws together slowly, “What do you mean you all knew?”

“Oh well, it was kinda obvious, Lin. You were always at the house, you were always on top of him, you laughed at all of his jokes, and you weren’t even thinking about seeing someone else.” Ana holds her hand up, counting down things on her fingers. Serahlin’s eyes narrow.

“He is very warm, and you know I run cold. He’s funny! He has a surprisingly wonderful sense of humor that is just so genuine, and I have been busy! Need I remind you that all of this applies to not just me but to as well with Venavismi? Whenever you’re at the house, you’re pressed up against him, you laugh at his jokes, you don’t talk about going out with anyone else but Aelynthi and everyone knows he’s completely gone on Victory.” Serahlin counters. Ana turns bright red and sputters.

“We’re friends! Since high school! And Vena is actually funny, so you know, laughter’s normal. And I’m also busy!” 

But the argument’s been made and they’re scowling at each other as they realize how long they’ve been unwilling to really see what has been so evident for so long. 

“I don’t want Adannar seeing other people,” she murmurs, finally admitting it to herself. Ana pauses and lets out a long breath.

“I hate Vena’s hookups.”

There is a long pause before Serahlin nods and leans forward.

“Alright, this is what we’re doing. We are going to tell them. I will tell Adannar how I feel, and you will tell Vena. And once the dust has settled…we’ll double team Selene. Got it?” 

Ana holds her breath a moment before closing her eyes and nodding, determined.

“Okay, we can do this. I can do this. Yes.” She doesn’t sound completely convinced, but Serahlin will…ignore that for now. She has Adannar to focus on…after she takes a long, long bath.

**

Serahlin leaves Ana’s an hour later. She sneaks out in one of Ana’s over-sized sweaters that she is fairly certain used to belong to Venavismi in high school. No matter. She dons large sunglasses and shuffles barefoot out of the apartment, feeling distinctly Dalish as she tries to subtly make her way to her car that blessedly has its top up. 

She sinks into the seat and takes off down the street towards her house. She arrives home and wastes no time in drawing a bath full of the deepest cleaning soaps she has. She sinks in and sighs at the luxurious warmth. 

Halfway through the bath, right after she finishes conditioning her hair, her phone rings. 

The caller id tells her it’s Adannar. To answer or not to answer, that is the question, thinks. But she told Ana she’d do this…she had just been hoping that she would be dressed for it. 

She slides the accept button across the screen and holds the phone to the side of her head.

“Hello?” She answers as normally as possible.

“Hey, Serahlin, it’s Adannar.”

“Adannar! Hey, it’s good to hear from you.” 

“Really? I mean…good! That’s good. It’s really good to hear from you too,” he breathes and she can hear the smile in his voice. Oh her Adannar. Her  _Adannar?_  She bites her lips but cannot help but smile event he tiniest bit.

“I was wondering how you’re doing this morning. Last night was kinda rough.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet! Yes, I’m doing well, thank you. Hungover, but that’s what I get for drinking in excess.” She says. He chuckles nervously on the other end and coughs.

“Yeah, hangovers suck. Did Ana get you eggs? Eggs are the best. And Orlesian toast! But you gotta be careful with the sugar, y’know? I kinda like day-old pancakes too. Then there was this time when we got tacos and that was really good too. Something about the grease and the booze cancelling each other out?” He’s babbling and it’s adorable. Her smile spreads and she can’t help but chuckle at him. 

“So eggs, Orlesian toast, day-old pancakes, and tacos?”

“Oh man, when you put it like that, it sounds gross.”

“Then I guess we’ll stick to your description.”

“Works for me! So, uh, what’re you up to?”

She pauses and looks around her. She could just say ‘nothing much, you?’ but she hates those generic lines, they’re so insincere and she doesn’t want to just write off his interest. She could lie and say she’s at her computer or something…but she doesn’t want to start this whole thing out with a lie. 

“I’m actually taking a bubble bath.” She answers.

“Oo-oh!” He stammers, clearly fumbling what to do with that information. “That’s right, you probably felt all grody from the party. I’m sorry! I should’ve called later!”

“Adannar, shh, it’s okay. I was wanting to call you anyways, it works out.”

He goes silent at that, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Really?” His voice is soft and hopeful and her heart clenches. 

“Yes. I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me last night, for taking care of me…for never pressuring me. I…”  _you called me sweetheart and I think I’m falling in love with you._

“Well, yeah, Serahlin. I’m not like a dick or anything. I want you to be happy and safe.” 

“It means a lot… _you_  mean a lot to me.” She says softly. There’s another long pause and various noises sound from the other line.

“You mean a lot to me, too, Serahlin.” He so soft and earnest that it does these amazing things to her stomach. 

“Adannar….”

“Yes?”

“I…” she can do this, she can, she just needs to center herself, then power through, “I didn’t like seeing you grind with other people.”

“What?” He sounds genuinely confused and she frets over how she’s going to explain this.

“I…don’t…want you grinding with other people.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I just want you doing that with me!” She says, frustrated that he couldn’t just infer. 

“I was just dancing!” He fights and she suddenly grows cold. No, no, she reminds herself, he’s probably just confused, she…screw this.

“You know what? I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

“Serahlin! Wait, I’m confused! What do you want?”

“I’ll explain everything when I come over, okay?”

“Oo-kay.”

“See you in a bit.” She hangs up and dunks herself under the water for one last rinse. She emerges from the tub a minute later and dresses quickly in jeans, a warm top, and boots. She is skipping all of her normal routines, but at the moment, she doesn’t really care. He needs to understand, and he won’t over the phone. 

She doesn’t bother with shoes, just stuffs her feet in her foot wraps, and practically runs out of the house, still wet hair sticking to her head. Tasallir is going to lose his mind, but she can’t think about that right now. 

She jogs up the steps to the house and lets herself in. 

Aelynthi’s head jerks up from his position on the couch. His eyebrows raise at her disheveled state.

“This is a new look.”

“Where is he?” 

Aelynthi grins, “In his room.” 

“Thank you,” and she dashes up to his room, stopping short of just throwing open the door. It is a nice door, she thinks, sturdy and good, standing between her and what she’s about to do. She can do this. She’s gotten this far, she can talk to him, she can always talk to him. Even when she’s sick or drunk or upset, or when she can’t really express herself others can. 

She knocks on the door. 

It opens and there he is, standing there and looking perfect with his perpetually tousled sun-bleached hair. His off-hue long-sleeved muscle shirt, and hip hugging jeans that she thinks he borrowed from Thenvunin because they’re a little long. And his eyes, Creators, his eyes. 

“Serahlin,” he breathes and she takes a step forward.

“I’m completely sober,” she tells him before raising herself on her toes and reaching up to his face. She pulls his down to her as she raises up to him. 

Their lips meet and it’s like pieces falling into place. It clicks. Adannar.  _Her_  Adannar. 

He makes a small noise of surprise before responding. He presses against her, wrapping his arms around her body to create as much contact as possible. And it isn’t overwhelming, it isn’t unwanted, it isn’t forced - it’s just them, kissing in the hallway and potentially scandalizing his brothers. 

Her fingers trace his jaw, marveling at how smooth his skin is while she holds herself up by wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

The kiss only ends because they need air, and even then, they remain close, his forehead resting against hers. His smile is the widest she’s ever seen it, and is that? Yes, it is - a small, barely formed tear at the corner of his eye, threatening to spill over.

“Serahlin?” He asks, voice hoarse with emotion.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to grind with other people, either.” And then he kisses her again and perhaps, just perhaps, there’s a little tear in the corner of her eye as well.

 

~

 

“Serahlin is snubbing you, you know,” Desire tells Glory, one morning when they’re at the Pretzel Shack getting breakfast.

Glory blinks, munching around their soft pretzel and warm cheese dipping sauce. It’s pretty crowded this morning, but Glory, in general, has a Radius. Squish sometimes refers to it as the Radius of Awe; it tends to keep strangers at a certain degree of distance, skirting around them in general wonderment and occasional disquiet.

Desire gets to stand within the Radius, meaning that they’ve managed to actually get a tiny outdoor table just for the two of them.

“Who the fuck is Serahlin?” Glory asks.

Desire sighs.

“You know, Serahlin? Queen of the Campus? Well, I guess she’s got some competition for the title. Evanurises and all. But still. She’s friends with Selene. I think she’s dating someone in Thenvunin’s fraternity, too,” Desire explains. Glory blinks, and after a few seconds, settles on shrugging.

“Never met her,” they say. “Is this like a thing where I’m in a competition with someone and don’t even know it again? Did her boyfriend send me a love note? Because you know I just burn those now. You put a ring on it, it’s not up for debate.”

Desire feels a familiar rush of warmth when Glory pointedly holds up their hand, with the plain silver band on it. She’s still saving up for the  _real_  ring, but her angel’s pretty adamant about loving this one, too. It’s got an engraving on the inside, but Squish is pretty sure she can just have the same thing printed into an actual  _gold_  ring. With a stone, or even several stones, and everything.

“Yeah, no,” she says. “I asked around once I figured you figured out that Uthvir was getting invites to parties we’d never even heard about. That’s the source. Near as I can tell, her sorority threw the party where you decided to hit on Thenvunin – even though we agreed you wouldn’t – and, well. Her ex cheated on her with her sister. So I think that might have something to do with it.”

Glory contemplates this for several moments. Munching on yet more pretzel; nails delicately shredding it into tiny bits that make them look like just slightly less like some magnificent ancient beauty, and more like a finicky cat. Desire is fond of both options, really. She should paint Glory’s nails some time soon, she thinks. It’s been too long since they did that; just hanging out and goofing around.

“So she’s mad because… she likes Uthvir?” Glory surmises.

“Probably. Also I think she thinks you were trying to steal Uthvir’s boyfriend,” Desire reasons.

“I wasn’t!” Glory protests.

She sighs.

“Angel, doll, people aren’t psychic,” she says, and watches the light go off and sees Glory get annoyed with themselves all over again. The pretzel gets shredded into tinier pieces, while Glory frowns and then sighs, and then gets up to go and get a fresh coffee. Desire finishes her own breakfast, and steals Glory’s extra cheese dip, and hums a little idly to herself.

When Glory comes back, their brows are still scrunched up.

“This is a good thing,” they say. “It’s good for Uthvir to have friends who hate me.”

Desire blinks.

“Uh,” she says. “I don’t think… that might be taking things a little far,” she reasons. “I think we should shoot for ‘friends who  _prefer_  Uthvir’, and not so much with the dramatic responses to you either way.”

Glory frowns, and then swears, and then starts downing their coffee.

“People react dramatically to me. I can’t help it,” they say.

“That’s not always true. You just don’t really have to notice the ones who ignore you,” Desire reasons.

Glory shrugs.

“I guess,” they allow. Then they sigh. “Well, so. Do I go and explain what really happened? ‘Hi, my name’s Glory, I’m not actually a terrible monster, it’s complicated’?”

“Probably not, no,” Desire reasons. “I just thought you should know. We don’t really need to  _do_  anything about it, unless it becomes a bigger issue than parties and things. I mean, for some people this would be a serious dent in their social calendar, but you don’t actually care about that. So…”

Glory taps their nails against the side of their drink.

“Right,” they agree.

Desire nods, and settles back. Checking her phone, as Glory finishes their coffee, and people watches a bit. Or possibly scans the perimeter for potential dangers. It’s hard to tell with them, they wear the same expression either way. The silver hair clips they have on look very pretty in the morning light, though. Very elegant, though Desire thinks she likes them most because they remind her of the star-shaped ones Glory wore out when they were kids.

“It’s just – I’m not  _actually_  trying to ruin anything for Uthvir,” Glory says, after a few minutes. “I never would. I love them. I want them to be happy.”

“I know,” Desire assures them.

There’s another pause.

“I don’t really care if people don’t like me,” Glory asserts.

Desire gives them a long look over the top of her phone.

“I don’t!” Glory insists. “It’s  _easy_  to get people to like me.”

“It’s easy to get people to think you’re pretty and charming,” Desire corrects.

“Same thing,” the love of her life actually tries to insist, for about a solid minute.

Then they deflate.

“Dammit,” Glory mumbles.

“Leave it alone,” Desire advises. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned it at all, but she hadn’t thought that Glory would  _actually_  care all that much. And, she considers, they probably wouldn’t, if they didn’t think that Serahlin was potentially a good friend for Uthvir, now. Now they care what this person thinks, because a good friend for Uthvir could be a good friend for Glory.

…It’s an uphill battle, on this whole ‘how to let Uthvir live and still be part of Glory and Desire’s lives, too’ thing.

“I will,” Glory agrees. “I mean, like you said, unless it actually becomes a  _problem_  then I should stick to this whole ‘hands off’ idea.”

“Uh-huh,” Desire replies, with a sigh. “Look, just – don’t burn any bridges for Uthvir, okay?”

“I’m not fucking up on purpose, Squish!” Glory protests.

“I know,” she says. “But just, keep it in mind. To reduce the odds, and all.”

He beloved sighs, but finally subsides.

~

Glory has a favourite picture of Uthvir.

It’s from when Uthvir was eight and Glory was just barely ten, and they’d been on set of one of their mother’s films. Uthvir had been so enthralled with all the special effects and costuming. Glory had been, too, but they’d been quickly swept up in a debacle where the director wanted them to do a short scene, and their mother had adamantly refused.

But while all that was going on, Uthvir had been swept up by one of the other performers, who had shown them around the set and let them look at some of the sculpted monsters, and gotten their face painted. At the time, Glory had been frustrated and mad about the whole thing. Uthvir got to dress up like a little monster and meet interesting people and  _artists_  and get their picture taken, and Glory spent the whole day stuck with Mamae, arguing with boring people.

Eventually, of course, they’d moved on from the whole excursion. But then years later Glory had found the picture again. And they’re remembered how excited Uthvir had been, talking a mile a minute about the big fake dragons and Melarue-who-had-a-son-just-their-age, and suddenly the picture just seemed so… sweet. Little Uthvir, in their pre-spiky days, nevertheless still covered all in spikes and painted on scales and things. Holding up a prop sword and looking all pleased with themselves.

Glory kept the picture. They have a copy of it on their phone. Sometimes they think they kept it to remind themselves that there are days when it’s a good thing for them to butt out; even if it sucks for them to do it.

They need that, because even  _with_  it, they forget.

A lot.

They actually do run into Serahlin by accident. At one of their favourite tailors, and they think they might be able to stay out of it but she’s with  _Dirthamen Evanuris,_  obviously heading in to fill the appointment after Glory’s own. And Dirthamen looks shifty and uncomfortable, at the sight of them; and Serahlin tilts her chin up, and then promptly acts like Glory doesn’t even exist.

“Evanuris,” Glory notes, and fails to make it sound like they aren’t spitting the name. “I didn’t realize you two kept company.”

Serahlin frowns.

Dirthamen swallows, and ducks his head.

“Glory,” he says. “I did not know you would be here. I can leave.”

“What? No!” Serahlin interjects. “We’re just heading into our appointment.  _Glory,_  I think, is the one who was leaving now.”

“Well, that was the plan,” Glory agrees. “I suppose there’s not much point in asking if you know who you’re keeping company with. And here I’d gathered you didn’t travel in those circles.” Just how much intersection, they wonder, do Dirthamen and Uthvir’s social strata  _have?_  Do they see one another? Do they speak? Uthvir would tell them, wouldn’t they, if another Evanuris was bothering them?

_Like they told you the last time?_

“And what circles are you referring to?” Serahlin asks, bristling. “Because believe me, I’m much happier with the company I’m currently keeping. Well away from the sorts of people who try and seduce their siblings’ boyfriends, or cheat, or otherwise hurt everyone around them.”

Glory tenses, defensiveness rising.

“I wasn’t trying to seduce anyone!” they snap.

“You  _lying_  – at my own sorority’s party!” Serahlin replies, her composure obviously straining under some pressure as well. “I can’t believe it happened under my nose! Uthvir is my friend, and so is Thenvunin, and I’ve told your consanguinity that if they are going to send anyone to chaperone an event then they would do well to think twice about sending you. Don’t think you can bat your eyelashes at  _me_  and get away with whatever you like. Maybe back in highschool you were used to being the High Chancellor of popularity, but life is a little different when you’re all grown up, and it’s an ugly thing to be stealing happiness from your own sibling just because you can’t stand to share the sunlight with them.”

Glory stares.

So does Dirthamen, in fact. He seems faintly impressed.

_“What?”_  Glory finally asks.

Serahlin stares at them.

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” she replies.

“What the – High Chancellor of  _what?”_  they say.

Serahlin raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know the gender neutral term for Queen Bee,” she says.

“That still doesn’t make any sense,” Glory insists. “Look, I just – I wasn’t out to steal anything from Uthvir, alright? There’s a lot of complicated history involved.”

“I’m sure,” Serahlin drawls, examining her nails. “Now if you don’t mind, we have an appointment to keep.”

Glory stares as Serahlin brushes past them, closing her hands around Dirthamen’s arm and pulling the Evanuris along rather pointedly. They stare as the two disappear into the tailor’s shop, and as Serahlin looks back, and then pointedly closes the nearest set of blinds.

They… that…

…What just happened?

 

~

 

It’s been lightly snowing for the last few days. Not enough to cancel classes, or drastically impede traffic, so Selene is expecting Dirthamen for their usual study session, and assembles two sandwiches and a couple mugs of instant hot-chocolate. She’s noticed he’s got a preference for the purple cup, so she makes sure to use it for his.

Not that that sort of thing matters, of course.

Friends do that too. She always uses the one with the pink flowers for Serahlin, after all.

She takes a sip from her own olive-green mug, and enjoys the warmth that settles through her bones.

 

The doorbell rings. Selene smiles, and shakes her head fondly. He has a key, there’s really no reason for him to announce himself. She opens the door to invite Dirthamen in, and is shocked instead to see the braided orange ponytail on the man in front of her.

 

Selene’s mug crashes to the ground with a loud shattering sound.

He can’t be here.

Why would he be  _here_?

 

“Haleir,” she whispers.

“Hey Sulvuna,” He greets with a toothy grin before stepping inside, and closing the door behind himself “Long time no see.”

“What-what are you-why are you-”

“I was doing some trade nearby. Keeper asked me to invite you back for the winter break while I was out this way. Interested?”

“N-no. I have things to do here, I can’t make it back.” She answers. She can’t seem to get her feet to move. Stupid, traitorous things.

 

Haleir doesn’t acknowledge her answer, and instead wanders around her apartment. “Not much bigger than the Aravel, is it?” he teases. He starts opening her cabinets and makes a face at the processed foods filling them, as well as the prepared food sitting out on the counter “Ew. You’re eating shemlen food now, Sulvuna?”   
  


“I-it’s not that bad. You can go now. Tell Deshanna I can’t make it back.”

 

Haleir turns to her with a frown, picking at one of the sandwiches “Come on. It’s been a little over a year since we last spoke. Can’t you be a little more hospitable? Or do you have shem manners now too?”

“There’s actually a pretty high elvhen population at this school, and you and I weren’t on great terms when I left. Please, just-”

“Well it’s not like it’s  _my_  fault we were on bad terms,” he interrupts. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to bond with me and then ran out when your dad tried to explain things to you. You’re so dramatic, Sulvuna, really.”

 

“You need to leave, Haleir. I’m expecting someone.”

“Oh? Did you finally unclench enough to let someone else into your bed? I’m both jealous and impressed.”

“It’s not-he’s-it’s not like that. We’re just friends.”

 

Haleir gives a feral grin then, putting the remnants of the sandwich back on the plate, and strides uncomfortably close to her. Her feet finally manage to budge, but she only goes back a step before she runs into the wall.

“Aww. You missed me?” Haleir asks, using a finger to trace her jawline.

“No.”

“We could try again you know. Time passing and all that,” he croons, drifting one hand up her side and underneath her shirt.

“N-no.” She stammers, her blood thudding in her ears.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar, Sulvuna,” he continues, his other hand moving through her hair to take out her ponytail. “I bet I could get you screaming again, somehow”

 

She can’t really make out anything he says after that. It all just sounds like someone trying to speak with a thick pillow over their face.

_Those weren’t good screams_ , she wants to say.

_I crossed an ocean. How much farther should I have gone?_  She wonders

_Stop touching me. Please. Stop touching me._

But her tongue is thick and her mouth is dry and her eyes are blurring and his hands are everywhere and her magic feels so far away what can she do  _what can I do-_

“Selene.” comes from the doorway.

 

_Oh no._

 

“Excuse you. A little privacy, please?” Haleir jeers at Dirthamen, one hand still up Selenes shirt while the other is wrapping her hair around his fist.

Her eyes turn to glance at Dirthamen, caught somewhere between  _Oh Gods I don’t want you to see me like this just run_ and _Please help me, don’t leave me alone with him again, please._

 

Dirthamen notes the shattered mug in the doorway, and steps carefully over the pieces, then closes the door behind himself with a distinctive ’ _click_ ’.

“Let her go.” he orders. His voice is deeper, but steady, and the room feels suddenly colder. She wonders if perhaps a draft followed him in from outside.

Haleirs grip on her tightens until her whole scalp is stinging and she thinks she hears something crack. Selene flinches; that’s going to bruise, at least.

 

“You should leave, flat-ear. Find somewhere else to be for the night.”

Dirthamen ignores the other mans advice, and takes another step towards Haleir. Selene can feel magic wrapping carefully around her. She panics instinctively, but her own still feels too far away to do anything about it.

 

_Run. Just run,_  She thinks.

 

Haleirs grip in her hair loosens, just a bit, and she’s certain he’s about to hit Dirthamen and no, no, she didn’t want this, don’t hurt him, please,  _please run._

The magic that had been wrapping around her strengthens then, and actually pushes Haleir off of her. One of his hands is still in her hair, but then his fingers bend backwards in a way she knows isn’t natural. He loses his grip, and she all but collapses, sliding down the wall until she’s sitting on the ground.

Haleir keeps going. An invisible force of frozen wind crashing him first into the walls, and then straight out through the window with a stomach churning smash.

 

Selene still can’t seem to move, and the magic is moving over her again, gently, carefully, and something idly registers to her that it must be Dirthamens. He is leaning partially out of the now broken window. The camera on his phone lets out a quiet clicking sound as the flash goes off, and he types something out before putting it back in his pocket. He walks carefully over to Selene, who is still in shock, and slowly withdraws his mana from around her.

 

“What happened?” he asks quietly, kneeling down beside her.

“I-I don’t-” she stops, as his hand moves carefully underneath hers, stopping her from accidentally placing it on top of a broken piece of ceramic.

“I-I have to make sure he’s alright.”

Dirthamen frowns deeply at that. “No. You do not.”

Selene shakes her head, and tries to stand back up “Yeah, I do. He’s an ass, but the clan needs him.”

“I believe ‘ass’ would be a drastic understatement, Selene,” he argues, even as he puts an arm around her briefly to help her stand. She winces, and almost falls over again when his fingers hit the rising bruises left on her.

 

“You are the one who needs medical attention.”

“I have a set of bruises, Haleir was  _pushed out of a window_ , Dirthamen,” Selene sighs.

“You are only on the third floor, and there is snow on the ground. It is unlikely he died.”

Selene’s pretty sure she should be less disappointed by that.

 

“Selene,” he calls. She can hear it, but she’s having difficulty focusing. The hot chocolate is going to stain. She’s going to have to replace the carpet. And the window.  And maybe even re-plaster the wall.

There is a distinct hole in it now, shaped like Haleirs head.

She is  _definitely_  going to have to re-plaster the wall.

 

“Selene.” She hears again. Her head turns to face him, but she gets distracted when she spots the shredded remains of the sandwich still sitting in the kitchen. What a waste. She had even splurged for the deli sliced meats this time.

 

“ _Selene_.” he pleads, and she manages to face him fully, now.

 

“Did you know him?” Dirthamen asks, once he is confident he has her attention.

“Yeah. Yeah, he was my-he uh…we dated. When I was with the clan. Sort of. I thought we were-but he was-It was…” she lets out a bitter laugh, that devolves into sobbing somewhere along the way “It was a mess. I was a mess. I’m still a…a mess.”

Dirthamen is silent then, and the cold seeps back into the room, but clears away when he takes a deep breath.

“Adannar has informed me in the past that hugs can be good for healing. I know you do not like when I touch you without permission, however-”

Selene has her arms wrapped around him before he can finish his sentence. She buries her face in his neck, and he startles for a moment before returning the embrace.

She tries her best not to cry. It’s a nice shirt he’s wearing, and it would be a shame to ruin it she thinks, so she forces herself to take deep breaths. Her whole body shudders with the force of some of them and Dirthamen awkwardly rubs small circles onto her back. Selene calms herself down before too long, and pulls back from him, wiping at her eyes.

 

“Thank you. I’m sorry. This wasn’t-do you want to start studying?”

He stares at her for a moment, and then shakes his head. He holds a hand out for her, as an offering. “I believe a night away from your studies is in order.”

She eyes his outstretched palm, and looks around at her mess of a studio. “I-I have to clean up.”

“I will ensure it is taken care of. You should not stay here with the window broken and the snow still falling.”

“Dirthamen…”

He lets out a quiet sigh, and his hand falls to his side “It…would give me comfort if you were somewhere else when he regains consciousness. Please.”

 

That gives her pause. She remembers almost searing off one of Haleirs eyebrows when a group of humans tried to rob them on a journey once. That had been an accident, but he had still been so upset that he lashed out at her.  
This time he was purposefully thrown out a window.

It would probably be best for everyone if they were not around when he woke.

 

“Ok. Alright. Let me just-I should call campus security to-”

“Someone is coming to deal with him already,” Dirthamen says, gently. “Where would you like to go? I could take you to Serahlin, or Elanna, or to the house. We could go into town if you’d like, or I could drive you wherever you would feel most comfortable.”

 

“I…” Selene runs the options through her mind, briefly. If by some strange chance Haleir manages to follow her, she doesn’t want him to attack Serahlin or Elanna in her stead. Dirthamen has already proven he is more than capable of handling Haleir, and she finds she doesn’t actually want to leave his side right now. “The house. If that’s alright.”

 

Dirthamen nods, and offers her his hand again. She takes it this time. Together they walk out of her building, and if Dirthamen practically carries her when her feet get stuck at the sound of a groan from a displaced pile of snow, neither of them talk about it.

 

~

 

Dirthamen is furious.

This does not happen to him often.

The last time he was this angry, he thinks, it was his brother’s funeral. And there were photographers there, people all from the newspapers and tabloids. Invited, of course. If his parents had wanted to keep them away, they could have. Dirthamen was not sure what it was about that whole scenario which made him angry.

He tried to reason it out, but his own reasoning failed him. Everything went exactly as he might have anticipated it going. His brother was put in a box; the box was put in the ground. And Dirthamen had felt relieved, and then he had felt angry, and then he had felt numb.

Those were not the stages he was supposed to go through, he knows.

This is different, at least. He knows why he is angry. He knows why he hates Haleir; he knows why he is filled with disquiet when Selene admits that she is at the hospital. Haleir does not deserve Selene’s concern, and Selene does not deserve to be endangered; to be attacked. She is good. She is good, and she does good things, and she is not like Dirthamen.

She does not deserve it.

When he has time, he sits and he thinks on his anger. It is not a good thing. Selene has probably had enough of angry men, and Dirthamen would not wish to become another such figure in her life. Anger burns; anger stings. It is his father’s fist against his cheek, in the aftermath of his brother’s death.  _Where were you?! How could you let him do such a thing?_

_Why weren’t you with him?_

It is pointless. So Dirthamen swallows it, down and down. He thinks of his own forwardness with his Selene, and the sour twist it leaves in him. He is always doing things wrong. But he does not thing he was wrong to stop this. He does not regret it, even if he was. He stares at his phone; Selene’s last message glowing up at him in the dark of his room.

What should he do?

He does not know.

What should he say?

_You make me think of pear trees._  They had been in the gardens, when he was very small. In the Orlesian House. Flowering and pale, and there had been so  _many._  He’d stared up at all the blooming branches. The same colour as Selene’s hair. They made him feel light; like he could drift away. Like there weren’t any walls around the garden. Or, that it didn’t matter if there were.

His fingers stall.

It is late, now. He would be disturbing her. Perhaps he is always disturbing her, the way his brother would inevitably wear out his welcome with the objects of his own admirations.

He carefully puts the phone away.

 

~

 

Uthvir’s day has been… different.

It starts out ordinary enough. Morning workout, classes, accidentally almost walking in on Glory and Squish because they forgot to tie something on the damn doorknob again, having an early lunch while Thenvunin texts them pictures of birds and complains that Adannar’s dog has fallen in love with his finches.

Trying to pretend they find his endless streams of emojis and exclamation points less endearing than they actually do.

The usual.

Then they get a message. It’s one of the ‘groups’ they have on their chat, so they figure they can safely ignore it until they have a little more time.

A few minutes later, though, and their phone is jangling with a flurry of messages. Glory wants to know where they are. Desire wants to know if they’re anywhere near Selene’s apartment. As it happens, they’re heading to the library, which isn’t too far from there. They answer both messages, frowning, and get a text from Thenvunin that’s entirely exclamation points and shocked/angry emojis. On a hunch they open the group message, and pause.

An elven man – Dalish, judging by the vallaslin – is lying in the snow, next to several pieces of broken glass and windowsill. Dirthamen sent the text, and apparently he was accosting Selene. In her apartment, judging by the surrounding environs.

They text Thenvunin back with a  _holy shit_ , and then have to deal with Glory and Squish reminding them not to go anywhere the scene of the possible-homicide which is likely crawling with Evanuris family ‘people’ by now. Cleaning up the mess. They take a moment to lean back in their seat, and flashback to helping Glory load kerosene into their trunk. They can almost smell it again.

Fucking…

Where’s Thenvunin?

They text him to ask and he tells them he just got out of a class. Heading back to the frat house, where Dirthamen apparently brought Selene. They let out a breath, not even sure why they were worried about him, in particular. And then they gather up their stuff, and go and defy all of their instructions, of course, to do a walk-by of Selene’s apartment. There are a couple of police cruisers out there, now, and they can hear an ambulance – sirens wailing, so the scumbag is probably still breathing. They see the broken window, and blood on the snow, but anything more than that has been cordoned off beyond their convenience.

Not like they  _need_  to see the whole scene, though. Or any of it, when they stop and consider it all.

They text Glory a few times, getting some more information from what they’re digging up, and then head off for the hospital. Old Crestwood isn’t a big place – prior to the university’s construction, the biggest location had been the cemetery and Blight Memorial – and it only has one hospital to speak of. A teaching hospital, naturally. Luck is with them and they manage to catch the bus into town right as it trundles by, and they’re on it and heading off before they can even really pause to consider  _why._

But they know why.

_What’s the asshole’s name?_ they text Dirthamen.

There’s a bit of a wait.

_Haleir_ , they get back. No last name. Unless that  _is_  his last name. But it’s enough to get them through most of the hospital and some charm and plain bluffing manages to yield a few answers. Scumbag has a bad concussion and a punctured lung, several broken bones but he’ll probably live. They’re not sure if there’s been any spinal damage, yet. Uthvir hopes there isn’t. Not because the man doesn’t deserve it, but because it would be better for Selene if he either died or made a full recovery. Any lasting damage might serve like some sort of awful guilt tether, all things considered.

Desire asks them a few pointed questions about where they are  _now,_  which they evasively answer, before leaving the hospital again. They stop at a restaurant that’s on the way back, an Antivan place that makes a lot of hearty foods, and pick up a full order. Food is good. Food helps, when it can be stomached. By the time they get to the frat house, though, they realize they weren’t the only one with this idea.

The scent of cooking permeates the air, and there are a few people hanging around. Selene and Dirthamen aren’t among them, but judging by the general atmosphere, Uthvir would wager that they’ve gone to a room to keep Selene from getting crowded. Aelynthi confirms that they’re in his. They drop the food off and pass by the door in the hall, and hear voices drifting quietly through the cracked door. They wait until the sounds drop off, and then knock.

There’s a shuffle, and Dirthamen – surprise, surprise – answers.

Uthvir almost smells kerosene again, for a moment.

“I went to the hospital,” they offer.

The words summon Selene. Dirthamen gives her a bit of space, and she comes over, frowning. A line between her brows; her arms wrapped around her. Self-conscious in a way that makes them think of Thenvunin. Thenvunin, and how worked into knots he gets; how badly he hates being thought of as weak, how badly he needs to let himself be less-than-strong, sometimes.

They smile at Selene.

“He’s alive. Some broken bones, and a concussion, but by the sounds of it he’s going to pull through.”

Dirthamen doesn’t look thrilled.

Uthvir doesn’t blame him.

But  _Selene_  looks relieved, and that’s something. She doesn’t have to worry that her friend’s become a killer, that she’s had any kind of ‘hand’ in someone else’s death. Uthvir thinks – knows –there are worse things, but Selene’s a better person than they are, they suspect. If Haleir dies, it should be quietly, obscurely; somewhere where she won’t hear about it until years later, maybe, when she happens to bump into a friend who knew a friend and they mention it in passing. Or she reads an obituary somewhere, something like that. Remote. Disconnected. Just another one of life’s unpredictable twists, and not a thorny web of cause-and-effect that will haunt her until she can overcome it.

Patience is a virtue.

“Thank you. For checking,” Selene says.

They wave it off.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” they tell her. “Just getting some take-away. I brought it back with me, if you’re hungry.”

She shakes her head, fiddling with her sleeves.

“Aelynthi made cannoli’s,” she says.

Uthvir nods.

“Thenvunin and I were going to head out to see a movie,” they say. “If you want a distraction, you – both of you – are welcome to come along. Make a double date out of it. The hospital says their patient’s going to be out of it for a while, probably. They’ve contacted his clan and all of that, so, there’s not much for you to do. It’s an open offer; don’t worry if you’d rather not.”

“I’ll think about it,” Selene says. She looks even more relieved by their assertions that she’s under no obligation to inform anyone about anything, though.

Uthvir nods, again, and then bows out. They can leave the actual comforting to people with a knack for it. Or more will to attempt it, anyway. They’re crossing down the hall when Thenvunin turns up; brow creased, dressed in his new boots and a pair of fuzzy grey jeans, looking worried and a little unsure. His shoulders relax a little when he sees them, and he heads straight for them.

“I can’t believe someone attacked Selene,” he says, and folds his arms around them as if  _they_  might have been in some kind of trouble.

They can’t fault him for the impulse, though. They’re bizarrely relieved to see him.

Fear doesn’t seem ready to settle until they’ve seen Desire and Glory, too. Maybe even their mother, as wholly irrational as  _that_  is.  _Make sure everyone’s safe._

“I know, babe.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah. Dirthamen’s with her,” they confirm. Not, they think, that she’s  _totally fine_ , but she’d been moving and talking and not trying to scorch her skin off on the floor of a shower, and so they’ll credit her resilience.

“Adannar’s bringing Flower,” Thenvunin says. “Do you think she would find birds more comforting? It… birds help.”

They tighten their grip on him for a moment, before pulling back.

“Maybe ask her,” they suggest.

Thenvunin goes to do that, and they let out another long, weirdly exhausted breath, before heading back to the kitchen. Selene might need a place to stay. If it was Uthvir, they think, they’d probably want to be alone. Have space. Or… maybe along, with space, but within reaching distance of some select people, too. The frat house might be a bit much. They text Glory, and after a few minutes, set it up so that they can offer Selene their room if she needs it. Glory can stay with Squish and Uthvir can camp out with Thenvunin, they’re pretty sure. Though, most likely, Ana or Serahlin or someone will take over on those fronts.

Still.

Doesn’t hurt to do what they can, they suppose.

~

Selene doesn’t take them up on going to the movie, as it happens. Or on using their room. Uthvir doesn’t press her for details about where she intends to stay or what she plans on doing with herself. They leave it be, and take Thenvunin out, as planned. Helping to clear some space in the House. At least their room’s going to be Glory-free for the night, so they can bring him back there, instead. He puts an arm around their shoulder as they head down the sidewalk to the theater. Warm and cozier than usual.

They aren’t complaining. They keep their own arm slung around his waist; quiet as they wait in line, and look at the ‘Coming Soon’ movie posters. The theatre is small, with only three actual screens, but they make decent business off of the student population. Thenvunin insists on paying, and then insists on assuring them that he doesn’t mean anything by insisting on paying, but that’s their normal levels of awkward. Uthvir just keeps an arm around his waist and says they’ll buy the popcorn.

They don’t end up getting popcorn, though. They sit towards the back of the theatre, and the movie seems to go by really fast. Uthvir doesn’t pay too much attention, except for the scene where one of the side characters ends up dramatically offing herself before the villain can have his wicked way with her. Then their stomach churns, and they grimace.  _Good thing Selene skipped this one._ Too-warm leather seats and that ‘new car’ smell linger at the back of their throat, as they remember getting home at last.

Glory off at their study group. A note from Mamae.  _‘Had to take a client to dinner. Leftovers in the fridge. Be back by seven.’_  Feeling grateful and feeling  _alone,_  as they made their way upstairs, and flung themselves into the shower. Hurting.

_Fate worse than death,_  their mother always called it.

_If she finds out you let this happen, she’ll wish you’d died instead._

_Glory, baby, if anyone ever tries anything like that, you fight,_  she would say.

_You froze. You just froze. All that magic, right at your fingertips, and the only thing you tried to do was scratch him._   _You’re a disgrace._

They remember turning the taps on the shower. The same taps as yesterday. Same rush of water. Those surreal few hours, afterwards, where they just tried to pretend like nothing had happened. Damp hair, watching cartoons on television, eating cabbage rolls and drinking chocolate milk until they threw up. That taste, they remember. They’d never been able to drink chocolate milk since.

Thenvunin’s quiet, when they get out of the theatre. His arm slings around them again, and Uthvir swallows back old memories. His jeans are  _fuzzy._  Their glorious, weird elf. They sneak a hand into one of his pockets.

“It must be terrifying,” he says, when they finally get back to the car. “To be attacked like that.”

“It is,” Uthvir says. Unthinking, and Thenvuin stalls. Goes a little pale.

_Shit._

“Obviously. I mean, how could it be anything else?” they add, and bump his hip.  _Don’t run, they always know you’re avoiding things when you do that._  They keep their motions unhurried as they open the driver’s side door. “I’ll drive.”

“It’s my car, sig,” Thenvunin protests. But it sounds reflexive, and rather than launch into the usual arguments with them, he just shrugs after a moment, and gets in at the passenger side. Quiet, as Uthvir drives. Quiet, as they park. Quiet all the way back to the dorm, and then Uthvir opens the door and wants to kick something, because Glory’s there.

“Thought you were with Squish,” they say, tensing. A reflex they can’t help, with Thenvunin at their back and their sibling at their front, and  _no,_  they don’t want… they know it’s maybe not the most rational thing, but they don’t want them… mixing. Even if Thenvunin’s chosen them. Especially not right now, with kerosene and chocolate milk running through their mind.

Glory shrugs. Flipping through a magazine; sprawling on their bed, and looking every inch like they should be on the cover of one instead.

“Selene’s not coming, and Squish needed some ‘me time’, so plans changed,” they say.

Uthvir frowns.

“What did you do?” they wonder. Then they almost immediately regret the question. Whatever tiff they’re having – if they’re having one; though Glory doesn’t usually phrase normal alone-time that bitterly – Uthvir doesn’t care. They’ll sort it out, they always do, and usually without any need for them to intervene. And dealing with the intricacies of their relationship is a little beyond them right now.

“ _I_  didn’t do anything,” Glory says. “…Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Fine,” they say. “Okay. Well, I guess we’ll go back to the House, then.” A room’s a room, and it’s not like they can’t keep out of the way. Thenvunin nods in agreement, but Glory straightens up, frowning a little.

“It’s pretty late,” they say. “You two can just clock out here. Or Thenvunin can just go home. It’s been a long day, you should both probably just sleep.”

Uthvir stares.

_…What?_

“Are you seriously trying to tell me to go to bed?” they ask. This is new. And unwelcome.

Glory shrugs.

“I just… you could just, stay here. With me. And Thenvunin, if you want. Just… considering everything.”

They pause. Re-assess. Glory had dated Falon’Din for a while. Caving to pressure, in that awful, twisted up period of time when Uthvir had tried dating Desire and their sibling had been locked in a ‘relationship’ with the guy who… with someone they really didn’t want looking twice at either of them. Who’d persistently stalked and harassed them to get there, and subsequently turned their whole effort to graduate from friendship into ‘something more’ with Desire into a guilt-ridden mess that it never should have been.

Selene has blonde hair and brown skin and a connection to the Evanuris family’s remaining son.

And Glory and Squish had a fight.

They let out a breath, and glance at Thenvunin.

“I suppose,” they say. “Do you want to go home?”

Thenvunin looks at them, and at Glory, and then shakes his head.

“I’ll stay, sig. Just let me get some stuff from my car,” he says. Uthvir supposes that if they aren’t doing the obvious, he’ll need some other way to pass the time. They head into the room, and settle onto their bed. Checking their phone for messages before opening up their bag, and pulling out their laptop. Glory goes back to their magazine, for a few quiet moments.

“How’s Selene?” they ask.

“About as good as can be expected,” they reply. “How’re  _you?”_

Glory blinks.

“I’m fine,” they say. “I mean, I kind of think someone should just quietly step on the oxygen chord while that asswipe’s in hospital, but you probably already knew that. What about you? You doing okay?”

Uthvir raises an eyebrow.

“Fine,” they say.

Awkward silence descends.

“How about your Thenvunin?” Glory asks. “He had… something like this, right? Bad relationship?”

Uthvir inclines their head. It’s on the tip of their tongue to point out that this might, just possibly, be part of the reason why they wanted to spend the night with him. But they bite it back. If Glory needs them, if Thenvunin needs them, then they’re just going to have to get Fear to shut up about the godsforsaken chocolate milk.

Thenvunin gets back, then. Uthvir tugs off their boots and the bracelets, shimmies out of their jeans and settles in their shorts and shirt at one side of their bed, while Thenvunin glances uncomfortably at Glory, but then takes his own boots off and wedges himself at Uthvir’s side. Tablet in his lap as the room fills with the soft glow of screen, and the gentle  _whisk-flick_  of magazine pages turning.

It’s the opposite of relaxing.

Glory doesn’t even look like a normal person in a fucking bed, they look like they’re in a movie shoot for some college film. Not even one of those ‘down to earth’ types that stick everyone in artfully disheveled clothing and asymmetrical hairstyles, no. Like a big budget production that doesn’t even wave at realism as it dances past. And every time Thenvunin looks up, he sees them.

_You’re not as pretty, but you’ll do for right now._

Uthvir’s stomach churns, and sinks, and dread drops into it like a leaden balloon as they get to their feet as they race out of the room and down to the bathroom. Only a few doors over. They get there in time and empty their stomach, inwardly cursing. Fucking. Fucking –  _no._  It’s been years.  _It’s been years._  They’re not allowed… it shouldn’t… this wasn’t even anything  _like…_

They heave until there’s nothing left, and retch, dry, for a few minutes more.

“Uthvir…?” Glory’s voice drifts over, hesitant.

“Theatre popcorn,” they say. “More grease than corn.” They don’t look at their sibling as they head over to the sink, and start splashing water onto their face. Their nerves jangling, as Glory looks at them and hovers-but-doesn’t, and they head out into the hall again only to nearly run right into Thenvunin.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I puked. It’s not the end of the world,” they say. “I guess something didn’t suit me.”

The floor is cold beneath their feet. They feel too exposed, now, in just shorts and a shirt, out in the open hall. They turn to head back to the room, and Thenvunin stops them. His hand on their shoulder; big and blocking half the hall.

“I mean,  _what happened?”_  he says.

Fear snaps. Uthvir brushes his hand off, frowning.  _Play it cool,_  they want to say, but there’s no chance of that. Not now. They swallow back their first response, an agitated  _none of your business,_  and settle on something that’s barely any better.

“Nothing,” they reply.

They should have asked what he meant. Everyone knows ‘nothing’ may as well mean ‘something’, especially when it’s delivered in a maelstrom of near-snarling defensiveness. They curse themselves inwardly, and head for their room, and when Thenvunin closes a hand around their wrist they nearly knock him into the wall.

_No._

No, they aren’t going to  _hit_  their boyfriend, what kind of shitty…

“Let go of me,” they say, coldly, instead. Thenvunin’s expression goes from worried to hurt, and they don’t want that, but he’s cornering them and they can’t let that happen.

“Do as they say,” Glory declares, and Thenvunin looks at them. Looks at beautiful, authoritative Glory, and does as  _they_  say. He lets Uthvir go, and Uthvir tries not to look at either of them, in turn, as they head down the hall and back into the room. Yanking on their jeans again and slamming their feet into their boots, strapping up the straps before grabbing their coat and storming back into the hallway again. Thenvunin and Glory are talking in the bathroom. Uthvir can hear it, and it just makes them twist inside all over before they head down the opposite hall, and just…  _away._

Fuck.

Fucking…

They snarl, and then they walk.

The snow’s pretty thick around the dorm. More of it’s fallen, dusting cars and padding streets; covering muddy slush and grim with a fresh layer of downy white. Covering it up, but it’s still there. They walk and walk, past flickering street lights and into the odd kind of winter quiet that only comes from deep snow and empty streets. Not that it’s  _completely_  empty, even in winter students are largely nocturnal creatures, but it’s… placid. It’s different. They get space, they feel like they can breathe, and so they go and just keep going. Until they start to think about Glory and Thenvunin, and being shitty to them. But they’re together, at least. They’ll find a way to get along, Uthvir’s sure. No matter how bad a first impression Glory might make, they always win people over, in the end.

They don’t even realize they’re at Selene’s building until they see the boarded up window.

Oh.

They pause for a moment. Staring up as snowflakes fall into their eyelashes, and their breath puffs into the sky. Falon’Din had died in fire, rather than air.  _Magical accident. Shouldn’t have been playing with spells in the garage._

They’re there for a few minutes. Until they hear the soft  _crunch_  of boots nearby. Steady steps. They look over, and then up; and then they still.

Andruil is dressed in a slick black coat. Heavy boots on her feet, a fur-lined scarf around her neck. Hair tied back into a tight ponytail. She has her hands in her pockets, and her eyebrows are up. A little surprised.

Uthvir doesn’t feel surprised. They suppose they should. But they just don’t feel it.

“Uthvir,” she says.

“Andruil,” they acknowledge. “What are you doing here?”

She tilts her head.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replies.

Silence. Snow falls. Uthvir feels like they’ve stepped into some weird space between time. Some point with one foot in dreams, and one in memory, and maybe neither are any good.

“…I came to see my big brother’s handiwork,” Andruil finally says. “Mother wants to know if he’s developed a penchant for temper-tantrums. I guess that would make him a late bloomer, by our standards.”

“If his flip switch is keyed to target rapists, I’d say that’s fair enough,” Uthvir reasons, quietly.

Andruil chuckles.

“You know, I’ve always thought there was some truth to the notion that some elves are just like rabbits. Some just invite that kind of thing. Letting anyone who cares to walk all over them. It’s not terribly  _PC,_  I know. But there really is an order to things. Either you’re the predator, or you’re the prey. Either you hurt people, or they hurt you.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy,” Uthvir replies. “And it doesn’t even work. Otherwise this asshole wouldn’t have gotten himself thrown out of a window by your  _nice_  brother.”

She laughs outright at that.

“Well, it’s really more of a series of levels than just a two-category thing. Fox beats rabbit, wolf beats fox, bear beats wolf… that kind of an idea,” she says. Then she shrugs. Pale snowflakes catching in her dark hair. “How have you been?”

They don’t even know.

“Why ask?” they wonder, instead of spitting out the usual non-answers. Andruil draws in a breath through her teeth, and lets it out again, before shrugging.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she admits. “I’m not… the  _best_  at being… well. I am a stone cold bitch, come to it. I don’t care to change that, but I do have  _standards._  Falon’Din never did. I’m not really interested in changing, and I don’t think I’d have ever walked away from you if it didn’t just cross one too many lines. But I knew, you know? He told me about it.”

They freeze.

Of all the people they could have chosen to find out, Andruil would have been the absolutely utter last on that list. Dead. Last. They suck in a cold breath, and it feels like it moves all the way through them. Ice shards in their lungs. Lodging in their spine.

_Don’t show weakness. That’s just a target to her._

“That was a long time ago,” they say.

“I know,” Andruil replies. “You were always a rabbit, though. Tiny little soft-bellied one, trying to be something bigger. It was cute. Dangerous around us dragons, though.”

Their gut twists.

_She’s not wrong._

“All that talk of being better, and you still get a kick out of taking pot shots at me,” they note.

“Yeah,” she agrees, contemplatively. “I don’t know why. Well, I mean, I know why I enjoy it in general. Just not you in particular. All through highschool, Glory was just… the  _prize._  But after, I found myself thinking about you more. I don’t know why. Maybe guilt or something. I don’t know. You got under my skin, anyway. For what it’s worth.”

They don’t know what to do with that backhanded piece of regard. But then, they’ve never really known what to do with Andruil’s attention. It’s like one of those sadistic maze rat tests, they think. A piece of delicious food tied to a device that zaps anyone who actually reaches for it. And she’s smart enough, they know, that she always figures out who’s starving.

But they think she’s actually  _trying_  to be sincere.

What a world.

They’ve probably always been at the bottom of the barrel, they think, if Andruil  _pities_  them.

“Don’t you have an endangered species to finish wiping out somewhere?” they finally ask, slumping. Strings cut.

She sighs.

“I guess,” she relents. “I should probably figure out what I’m going to tell Mother.  _Dirthamen has a crush_  seems a little underwhelming. Maybe I’ll try and subtly convince her that he’s succumbing to demonic forces. I have no idea what she’d do with that. She might prefer it.” Her tone is light; unburdened, and amused. She turns, and Uthvir doesn’t watch her leave, as they listen to the crunch of her footfalls again.

They stay where they are for a few minutes more. Tilting their gaze up from the boarded window to the sky, and the swirling flurries falling down on them.

Then they sigh, and head back.

 

~

 

When they get back to their room, Glory’s gone.

Thenvunin isn’t.

They open the door and pause. Thenvunin is standing, holding his phone. Staring at them, and then looking them over, as if anger and relief are at war within him. He lets out a breath, and, of course, almost immediately settles for outrage.

Mild outrage, anyway.

His casual tones are almost completely absent from his voice.

“Where did you go?” he demands. “You’ve been gone for hours! Glory went to go and get a search started, you didn’t even take your phone, what were you even thinking? You aren’t even  _feeling well,_  you could have fainted into a snow drift or - or staggered into traffic! What if you started vomiting blood? What if that monster who attacked Selene had found you?”

“Thenvunin,” they say. They feel tired. Too tired for this. Shit. Glory, they’ll have to stop Glory from waking a bunch of people up and making a big deal out of nothing…

Thenvunin frowns, his expression pinched and unhappy.

“Just… calm down, alright? I’m back now,” they try, and push past him to go retrieve their phone. There are two messages, one from Thenvunin and one from Glory; apparently before they realized that Uthvir had left it behind. They tap out a quick text to their sibling - ‘back, not dead in a ditch’ - and then slump. Shoulders sagging, bending forward. All of them just sort of… stopping.

Even Fear feels a little wrung-out.

“…What happened?” Thenvunin asks them again.

_Nothing,_  they want to say. Because that’ll convince him, of course. So useful.

“I just needed space,” they settle on. Sucking in a breath, trying to reach for an equilibrium that keeps eluding them. 

Right.

Well, numbness it is, then. Dear old detachment, always there to help keep them functional. They turn and look at their boyfriend, who’s still frowning. Who’s wearing his coat and shoes, like he was on the verge of storming out. To leave? To give up on this sudden mess? To go join Glory, beautiful Glory, who must have seemed so  _distraught_ , and… 

Uthvir’s not being fair, they know.

“Sometimes I just need space,” they say, at last.

_Please. Please, just… leave it._

Thenvunin’s expression falters towards uncertainty. He shifts around a bit. Not quite fidgeting. Looking Uthvir over again, as if their secrets might somehow suddenly start writing themselves out on their person. Uthvir’s phone jangles with a return text from Glory, and they spend a minute dealing with that. Apparently the upside to their melodrama has been that Glory and Squish are on speaking terms again. They have a brief argument, and Glory finally relents to staying with their fiance. Something in Uthvir unclenches just slightly at the assurance that they will not have to deal with their sibling and their boyfriend in the room together again tonight.

If Thenvunin even stays.

“Is it about what happened to Selene?” Thenvunin asks, uncertainly.

Uthvir shrugs, and slumps down to sit on the edge of their bed.

“…I was worried,” he admits.

They glance up, guilt twisting in their gut, and freeze when they realize that Thenvunin’s eyes are a little too bright. A little too watery. He shuffles a bit more in place, and clears his throat. Tucking his own phone away, before hesitantly moving towards the bed beside them. As if uncertain of his welcome, now.

Uthvir sucks in a deep, long breath.

Then they manage a reassuring smile.

Probably not the world’s most convincing. But it still happens.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” they say. “I’m tougher than I look. A little nighttime walk isn’t going to do me in, Thenvunin.” Even rabbits know how to avoid predators when they need to.

They reach over, and pat the side of the bed invitingly. Thenvunin sits.

The awkwardness in the air is palpable.

“Where did you go?” Thenvunin finally asks them, again.

Uthvir shrugs, again.

“Around,” they say. “Just for a walk. Fresh air’s good sometimes.”

“I asked Glory what was wrong. They said something happened to you,” Thenvunin tells them, and Uthvir freezes. For a minute a bolt of icy dread renews itself all in their veins, before their brain catches up with that statement. They glance at Thenvunin, and see the signs; the uncommon stiffness in his shoulders, and lift to his chin. The way he’s holding his hands. He has some pretty obvious tells.

_Liar, liar._

“They didn’t say anything,” Uthvir asserts. For one thing, Glory may have a lot of faults, but sharing their traumatic past with the world isn’t one of them.

For another, Glory doesn’t even know. They think it’s the murder whenever Uthvir gets like this; and they never term that as something that happened to  _Uthvir._

Thenvunin frowns.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he asks.

“Yeah, babe,” Uthvir replies, sighing. Can’t they sleep for a week? Go back in time and reset the universe, maybe? “I’m not mad about it, though.” They shift around, and finally just start pulling off their coat, and boots. What time is it, even? Ass o’clock in the morning, probably. They’ve kept Thenvunin up all night, and not even in a fun way.

“…Something  _did_  happen, though…” he says.

Uthvir pauses at the concern in his voice.

Thenvunin’s a good person.

They close their eyes.

“Lots of things happen to lots of people,” they reply. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it, okay? It doesn’t help. I’m sorry if I scared you, I just… needed space.”

They might still need it, they think. It’s such a strange thing, to want to keep this man close and safe. Near enough to talk to. Near enough to touch. And yet, at the same time, they feel like they need a thousand years of solitude. An island, maybe. Just until they can gather their thoughts enough to understand them again.

“Uthvir-”

“Please.”

The word falls out of them, as it seems like Thenvunin might say something else. Demand something, or reason over it, or question it. Poke holes into it. They can’t manage it. Most days, they can run laps around people trying to out-talk them. But not tonight. They meet his gaze, raw and ground down, and they watch as all the fight just leaks right out of him.

“Should I go?” he asks, at last.

They shake their head.

“It’s late. Can we just sleep?” they suggest.  _Can we just forget about it?_

Thenvunin hesitates, only a moment. Then he starts taking off his own boots again. Uthvir listens to the rustle of fabric, as the both of them quietly strip down to their more comfortable layers. They lift up the sheets, and their boyfriend climbs in with them. Still here. He’s beautiful, and warm, and still here, even if Uthvir doesn’t deserve him. Even if it’s only a matter of time before something or other chases him away.

They’re too tired to be aloof, they think.

They move a hand across his waist; and when he doesn’t object, they press themselves flush to him. His breath hitches as they rest their head against his chest. And then his arms come around them, in turn, and he clenches a hand in their shirt, and presses a feather-soft kiss to their temple.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything,” Uthvir replies. Out of everyone, in fact, Thenvunin has maybe the  _least_  connection to all of this.

“I’m still sorry, for whatever happened to you,” Thenvunin insists. “If I’d been there, I would have stopped it. I would have thrown him through a window.”

His voice breaks, at the end.

Uthvir stills.

Thenvunin’s chest shudders, and a few watery breaths escape him, as he holds them close. Shoulders shaking. Their throat is dry, and their heart is hammering, now. White noise between their ears. A thousand different rebuttals falling flat against their tongue. After a minute, they just close their eyes.

What’s one more defeat, tonight?

“I’d have thrown yours through a window, too,” they tell him.

Thenvunin goes quiet. Startled enough that they think he might deny it.

But in the end, he just cries more.

 

~

 

The rest of the day passes by like a bad movie montage for Selene. There’s a lot of familiar faces blurring by, and a lot of food offered, but most of it just makes her stomach churn. Aelynthi eventually needs his room back she decides, even as he offers to take the couch in the living room instead. Dirthamen takes her up to his own room when she asks, and puts an old sci-fi series on for her. She tries to have a conversation with him about it at first, but she’s only barely paying attention, and it’s late. He’s asleep by the second episode.

 

She carries him to his own bed and tucks him in before heading back to his couch. She mutes the television, since she doesn’t really care about the story anyways.

Sleep doesn’t come for her.

At 5:15am, the alarm on her phone goes off for work.

There’s a pad of paper and a pen sitting next to his computer, and she scribbles out a message before leaving.

_Went to work. Thanks for everything. -Selene_

Needing some clean clothes, she heads towards her apartment.

 

Not hard to tell which one is hers, now. The spot where Haleir must have landed is still sectioned off with police tape.

_He’s going to pull through,_ she hears Uthvir assure her.

She rubs her hands together from nerves rather than the cold, lets out a visible breath, then walks up the stairs to her room.

Her door is unlocked, and she wonders if she should change the locks, too.

She freezes when she steps inside.

 

It looks perfect.   
  


Someone has already replaced the window, and covered over the hole in the wall. She can still smell the plaster, when she gets close. The carpet is new too, and much more plush than the old one. She slips her shoes off, and curls her toes into it.

Change can be good.

She wades over to the kitchen, and even her dishes have been done. She sort of hopes whoever did this ate the other sandwich rather than tossing it, but probably not.

The purple cup is sitting in her drying rack, and there’s an olive green mug sitting next to it. It has a gold pattern embellished over it, and she traces the design with her finger. Her phone goes off again, her ’ _you actually have to get out of bed now or you’re going to be late_ ’ tone playing, and she changes quickly into a comfortable tank and jeans and tosses her baggiest sweater on over them. A fuzzy purple and green piece that’s fraying just a bit around the shoulders. Serahlin hates it, she knows, but Selene thinks she can probably get away with it today.

She grabs her bag on her way out, forgotten in her haste yesterday, and heads for the library.

 

It’s an hour into the shift when she sees a tattooed head poking around the corner of non-fiction. Melanadahl frowns as he approaches her.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, this is what we call ‘working’. I understand it’s a new concept for you, but I’d think with all your 'supervising’ capabilities you could at least recognize it in the wild,” she snarks.

He reaches out to poke her shoulder like he normally does, but stops midway. She sighs. Well, seems like everyone knows her business now.

“Does anyone worry about how quickly gossip spreads at this school?” she asks instead of yelling at him that she’s the same person she was during her shift yesterday. Somehow she doesn’t think saying 'its not like its the first time’ will help matters.

“That’s the whole point of an information network, really. Is it true then?”

“Depends on what you heard,” she evades.

“I heard another Dalish elf broke into your apartment and tried to rape you, and Dirthamen killed him in retribution.”

“No, that’s not true. He didn’t break in, I knew him, and he’s still alive, just in the hospital.”

“And the other part?”

Selene just shrugs and sticks another book on the shelf.

 

“You should take the day off.” He says quietly.

“No thank you.”

Melanadahl runs his hand over his scalp and lets out a heavy sigh “Alright fine. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask though, ok?”

Selene nods, and moves another book from the cart to a shelf.

 

More people file into the library as the sun rises, and she pointedly ignores the pitying looks they give her when they think she can’t see them.

Three hours later, Hawke rolls into the library with another elf in tow.

“Sulvuna!” She hears from behind her, and for a moment she just freezes. Des tries to push his way out and she shoves him back down, burying him under memories and thoughts of tall buildings and numbers. Turning slowly, she sees Alaris waving, and her relief is staggering as she approaches him.

“I found him wandering around the campus. Said he was looking for someone who matched your description, but after some of the stuff I’ve been hearing, I thought it’d be better to stay with him.”

“Thank you, Hawke. This is my cousin, Alaris. He’s harmless, but I appreciate the sentiment,” she smiles. Hawke offers her a lazy two-fingered salute and turns on his heel to leave.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I came to check on Haleir, and take him back for his recovery. I got to take a plane, even. It was very exciting!” he smiles.

“He’s not here though, he’s at the hospital.”

“Well, yeah, I know. But I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A chill goes through her then.  _Alaris_  doesn’t know, does he? Who would have told him?

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asks, trying for an air of casualness.

“The two of you used to be close. I just assumed you’d be worried about him.”

 

Oh. Right.

“Right. Yeah, of course. I’m fine, though. He’s gonna recover, I hear.”

“That’s good,” he smiles. “I was going to go visit him, actually. Are you free?”

“Uh…” she stalls, running through possible scenarios in her head. A drugged up Haleir alone with her lost cousin sounds like a bad idea. He might actually tell the truth.

“I just have to let my supervisor know I’m leaving,” she settles on, and she can feel Des’s disapproval at her choice.

 

She knocks on the door to the break room and lets Melanadahl know she’s leaving with her cousin for the rest of the day.

“Oh, a day off? What a fantastic idea. Must have come from a truly brilliant mind,” he grins and she rolls her eyes at him while he tells her to clock out and get out already.

 

They head out towards the bus station, and Alaris gushes at the campus and tall buildings. Selene answers most of his questions, and shoots off a quick text to Dirthamen, in case he tries to show up for lunch.

 

– _>  _Left work with my cousin. Hope your day is going alright.

 

There’s no response, and she assumes he’s probably either in class, or still asleep. Either is fine, so long as she doesn’t have to tell him she’s going to the hospital. She has a feeling he’d disapprove, or insist on joining them. Maybe both, which would be its own kind of nightmare, really.

 

The bus to the hospital takes longer than it should to arrive, so Selene shoots off a few emails to her professors to ask for lecture notes and assignments, since she probably won’t be back in time now.

Alaris almost gets on the wrong bus twice while they’re waiting.

“How were you going to get to the hospital on your own?” she sighs.

“I would’ve made it there eventually,” he counters with a smile.

 

The right bus does come though, and Selene tries not to fidget the whole way, even as Des tells her this is a terrible idea. She’s sleep deprived, hungry, stressed out and making bad decisions. She counters that taking advice from a demon would also count as a bad decision, and he huffs at her in frustration before going quiet again.

 

When they arrive, Alaris introduces himself to the woman at the desk, and she gives the pair of them directions to Haleirs room. They thank her, and make their way over. Selene pauses outside the door, and grabs Alaris loosely.

“Hey,” she says, digging through her purse for some money with her other hand “There’s a cafeteria on the other side of the building. Can you go get some orange juices for us? It’ll help with his recovery.”

“Really?” he asks dubiously.

Selene just nods “Yeah. I could really go for one myself, and it’s Haleirs favorite.”

That seems to be enough for Alaris, and he bounds off on his mission.

Selene takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.

 

The blinds are closed, but the television is playing, quietly. Haleir is partially sitting up, with a glazed over look in his eyes.

He looks worse than she thought he would from a fall, to be honest, and something like guilt twists her stomach.

She stays far enough away that he won’t be able to reach her, but moves into his line of sight.

It takes him a moment, but his eyes focus on her, and he lets out a forced laugh

“When you decided to betray the clan, you really went all out didn’t you?”

 

That’s…not really what she was expecting, and it throws her.

“What?”

“I can’t believe you’re blowing the fucking Evanuris family. Your father would drag you out of this place himself if he knew, you know.”

“I’m not bl-” she sighs, and runs her hand down her face “You’re too drugged up for me to even bother telling you all the things wrong with that statement.”

“S'true though,” he mumbles.

Selene knows. She’s already enough of a disappointment in her fathers eyes, she thinks. He doesn’t need to know that she’s tucked their heir into bed before. It might piss him off enough to stop working and actually talk to her though, which would be an interesting experience, she imagines.

 

“You found out about Dirthamen, then?”

“Someone came in and clicked my morphine button a buncha times, then stuck a pen in my hand. There was a stack of nondisclosure forms, and I was told in no uncertain terms that if I made a fuss, I’d lose at least ¾’s of my business contacts, and that next time I’m in the hospital they won’t foot the bill” he mutters “Why do they have so many shell companies?”

Selene shrugs “I’m sure I don’t know.”

 

There’s quiet then, just the quiet laugh track of whatever is on TV above her.

“I didn’t think you’d visit.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Selene admits “Alaris is here. I didn’t want him finding out, so I thought we could work out a story instead.”

“You can’t baby that kid forever, Sulvuna.”

“You know what, you’re absolutely right Haleir,” she drones sarcastically before slumping into a chair. She’s too tired for this, really. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell your future Keeper that you’re in the hospital because you tried to rape his cousin and pissed off an Evanuris in the process. Maybe even toss in some of the other incidents from when we were younger. I’m sure that’ll go over wonderfully for everyone.”

Haleir goes silent for a moment, before letting out a groan “Alright, fine. What’re we going with this time then?”

“We had an argument, you tripped over some dirty laundry, and fell out the window.”

“That makes me look like an idiot!” he argues

“Oh, and the truth makes you look like a shining beacon of perfection?” she counters.

Haleir grumbles, but concedes her point.

 

The room goes quiet again, and Selene wonders if Alaris got lost.

Probably.

 

“I missed you, you know,” Haleir manages, slowly.

Her gut twists, and she keeps her mouth shut.

“We could try again. I could get better. I’ll try to be better, really. Sulvuna-”

“That’s not my name,” she interrupts, quietly.

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment.

“O…kay. Well. Whatever you want. I’ve got some money put away you know. We could get our own Aravel. I could help build it even, for you. Your dad would welcome you back if you just apologized, and I won’t even hold this last year against you. We could just. Start over. Wipe the slate clean, you know?”

 

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t trust herself, right now.

 

“Come on Sulvuna. _Vhenan._ Ar lath-”

“Do  _not_  finish that sentence. It’s a lie. It’s always been a lie. Just…pretend to be a good person long enough to get through this visit, and hopefully we’ll never have to see each other again.”

Haleir frowns “Fucking ungrateful… _ **fine**_. Whatever. I hope he tosses you aside like the garbage you are one day.”

 

Selene just slumps back into her chair, and is immensely grateful for Alaris bursting through the door. His arms are full of orange juice boxes and individually wrapped cookies. He apologizes for taking so long, but he wasn’t sure what kind of cookies to get. Apparently one of the workers was charmed by him enough that they just let him take an armful from the blood donation supply box for free, and then gave him his number.

Sounds about right, she thinks, smiling at him as she takes a chocolate chip from the pile.

She sticks it in her purse for later, and forces herself to stay awake while Haleir attempts to explain the situation to Alaris without giving anything unnecessary away. It works, and Alaris orders them a pair of plane tickets back for the next day. Her healer instincts don’t think someone in his condition should be traveling so soon, but they’re drowned out by her relief that he’ll be gone soon.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket.

 

← Where are you?

-Dirthamen

 

→ Out with my cousin.

She sends back.

 

← Have you eaten today?

 

→ Does orange juice count?

 

There’s a pause before she gets a response, and she can just picture him asking someone. She tries not to smile at the thought.

 

← It does not.

 

→ Then I guess not. I don’t know when I’ll be back though. You should eat without me.

 

← I could pick you up if you would like. Or meet you somewhere. Where are you?

 

She frowns. He wouldn’t normally ask the same question twice.

 

→ Out. With my cousin.

 

There’s nothing then, for a few minutes. She watches the '…’ indicating that he’s typing come and go a few times before something finally sends.

 

← Are you at the hospital?

 

Well. If he already knows, there’s probably no point in lying.

 

→ Yes.

 

← May I inquire as to why?

 

Selene debates her answer. She could just say no, and he’d respect that. He’d be upset about it though, and she doesn’t want to make things any harder on his end.

→ Because my cousin doesn’t know, and I need it to stay that way.

 

There’s silence on her phone for the rest of the day, as Alaris and Haleir discuss sorting out the trades Haleir won’t be able to fulfill on this trip now, and how to compensate, and other clan matters that she doesn’t really care about anymore.

 

They leave once they’re finished, thankfully. Selene asks Alaris where he’s going to spend the night, and when he doesn’t have plans, she offers to let him stay with her. He smiles and accepts.

He compliments the carpet when they get back, and the quick work the school did on getting things straightened out. She doesn’t bother to point out that the school likely would have sent her a bill rather than actually  _fix_  anything.

They share a small meal together, and chat, and it’s the most normal she’s felt since the incident. She sleeps on her couch and lets Alaris take the bed. Selene all but passes out from exhaustion as soon as her head hits the armrest.

The next morning she texts Melanadahl that she’s skipping work again and waits with Alaris at the bus stop. They share a tight hug, and he’s off, and it feels like a physical weight has been lifted off of her shoulders.

 

Life goes on.

 

~

 

Aelynthi gets a text from Dirthamen. 

He isn’t entirely paying attention at first, just glances at the screen before going back to his art history paper until it clicks in his head that Dirthamen just  _sent him a picture of a man lying on the ground in the snow surrounded by glass and pieces of a windowsill_.

**This elf accosted Selene. I have called security.**

He isn’t an elf that Aelynthi recognizes in the forums floating around for sexual predators and potential problems around campus. He’ll have to send a tip to Glory and Desire. He doesn’t think that Dirthamen means  _actual_ security. It’s far more likely that he called his family to…take care of things.

He looks up from his phone screen just as the front door opens and Dirthamen walks inside with Selene.

Selene, who was just accosted by a man that Dirthamen threw out a window. And really, the only thing that Aelynthi can fault Dirthamen on is not making sure he was dead before bringing Selene here. “Everyone else is out at the moment,” Aelynthi replies, standing.

That could be good or bad. Good because less people means less of a fuss, but perhaps Selene needs to be surrounded by people she feels safe with.

Selene looks like a mess. It’s shock, he knows. She’s still trying to absorb what’s happened. Dirthamen steers her toward the couch, expression calm and concerned.

Judge from the bruises, and the way Selene looks like she wants to flinch at every small movement, he thinks this wasn’t the first time this elf has done something like this to her.

Aelynthi wonders what he should do. He still doesn’t know Selene very well, they haven’t had many opportunities to hang out, just the two of them. But she’s tagged along on a few of his and Ana’s museum trips, and he likes her. And even if she’d been a stranger, no one deserves any of that.

But he doesn’t know what she wants him to do in this situation. Well, he’ll just default back to what he does with Thenvunin, then. “I’m making cauliflower carbonara, do you two want some? Good.”

He glances over the kitchen counter as Dirthame sits down next to Selene on the couch, with enough space that she doesn’t feel smothered. He wonders, sometimes, how Dirthamen possibly came out like he did with that family of his.

He begins pulling ingredients out of the fridge. He was going to make dinner for everyone later, but he supposes they’ll understand the urgency of the situation. He’s really…he’s really bad at comforting people. But if Dirthamem, who is the most socially inept person he knows, can manage to put Selene at ease, then he should at least put forth some kind of effort.

Thenvunin never listened when he told him to stop dating people that were harmful to him. He didn’t understand the concept of toxic relationships. And so Aelynthi had stopped trying to force him out of them. When you do that, you become part of the problem as well. The abuser is always demanding something…a friend shouldn’t do that as well.

Sometimes it’s best just to let them know that you’ll be there, whatever happens.

He’s just bad at articulating that.

It’s his fault for not noticing with Thenvunin sooner, and for being so pushy about the breakup. He’d done exactly what Sethtaren had wanted. “He’s trying to make you choose between us, babe. He’s the one with control issues.”

Fucking Sethtaren.

If there’s one good thing that ever came out of Victory being in the military, it was the fact that Sethtaren was there too.

_“Hey,” Victory pauses on the other end, “Do you remember that time you told me about Thenvunin’s trashbag ex?”_

_Aelynthi frowns, trying not to openly glower. “Yeah, I remember.” He’d been more than a little drunk, and had gone on a long rant about Sethtaren and all the ways he’d initially planned to kill him before he’d run off and gone into the army._

_“His name was Sethtaren, right?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“I just met him, I think.”_

_Aelynthi stills. “…is there any way you could kill him and dump the body somewhere?”_

_Victory makes a half-laugh, half-sigh, “No. I’m pretty sure I’d get arrested for that.” Another pause. “But there’s a very good chance I can find a way to get him into a fist fight. There are a few commanding officers that might look the other way at a brawl. He isn’t very popular. He harasses a lot of the younger recruits.”_

_Of course he would. That sick, disgusting… “Do it,” Aelynthi agrees. “Preferably shatter his knee caps or something.”_

_“I think it’d be best if I kept him where I could watch him,” Victory asserts, “If he gets discharged for that kind of injury, I don’t know where he’ll disappear too.”_

_“It isn’t…it isn’t anywhere near here, right?” He knows he can’t ask Victory where he is at the moment. Special Ops moves around a lot, to dangerous and not-so-dangerous areas, but it’s usually for something important._

_But if he is somewhere where he could potentially bump into Thenvunin…_

_“Don’t worry. I would have called sooner if it was. It isn’t anywhere near Fereldan.”_

_“Have at it,” Aelynthi replies, “And make it hurt.”_

Victory had sent him a message later saying “I broke his jaw” which had apparently been an understatement, because he’d learned from one of Victory’s unit mates that he’d shattered it completely and it had taken fourteen hours of magical healing to put everything back.

“Dirthamen, if I am making pasta we are going to need wine. Anyone have any preferences? If not, could you go to the liquor store and pick something up?”

Dirthamen looks to Selene, and he leans forward, murmurs something that Aelynthi can’t hear from the other side of the room, and at her nod he heads for the door.

There’s a brief moment of silence, as the door closes and the sound of the infomercial on tv fades into comfortable background noise.

“Could you help me cut some of these?” Aelynthi holds up the cauliflower. Selene nods, and walks around the counter and onto the tiled kitchen floor and begins moving. It’s mechanic, her eyes are still slightly glazed, but her shoulders are squared and as she goes through the motions, he can see her relaxing.

Sometimes it’s important to just be doing something.

They are alone. Good. It isn’t that Aelynthi doesn’t feel comfortable with Dirthamen, or that he doesn’t want him knowing this but…well, this story isn’t for Dirthamen. He isn’t the one who needs to hear it.

“When I was in highschool, I went to this really fancy party,” It was an after party for a fashion show that Melarue had been in, a mixture of drugs, booze, and attractive celebrities that had become second nature to him by that point. “I met a guy there. Good looking, typical elvhen beauty, body like a sculpture, you know the type. I was young, they were really good at smooth talking, and making sure I was always drinking something. I can’t even remember how many drinks I had that night.”

The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board stops as Selene looks over at him, but he shoots her a wry smile and walks to the sink to fill a pot with water. After a few seconds, the cutting resumes, and so does he.  “It was all rather hazy, up to a certain point. He dragged me off to one of the back rooms, and it was quick and painful and that’s all I remember about it. I don’t remember his face, and I don’t remember what happened before, or after. All I remember was one line, ‘You’ll be fine. It’s  _supposed_  to hurt’. I hate that line. Sex isn’t supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to feel  _good_. It’s supposed to be a good thing. It pisses me off that my first time was like that, because it shouldn’t have been. It’s never supposed to be that way. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar, and an asshat.”

He takes a deep breath and continues. “But I didn’t have to remember all of it. It’s got to be worse when you do. When it isn’t something you can forget and talk about casually. Because I got to wake up the next morning and go on with my life. Not everyone gets to do that.”

He’s never had this conversation with Thenvunin. He hadn’t known then, if it would help, hadn’t know how important sharing that might have been for him. At that time Thenvunin assumed Aelynthi was some kind of relationship expert; everyone at school had. He hadn’t wanted to ruin that image of himself, and so he’d never told him.

He regrets that, to this day. If he had, maybe Thenvunin wouldn’t have had that experience with Sethtaren. Maybe things would have gone differently…

“Well, now you know.” Of all the people for him to tell, it’s her.  _Selene_ , who he can count the number of full conversations he’s had with on one hand. “Thenvunin still thinks my first time was at a stupid pool party sophomore year.”

His hand tightens on the knife. “I don’t remember it, but sometimes, when I’m having sex, I just tense up. I remember those words and I feel sick, and I have to stop. It isn’t something that’s going to go away. It’s something you have to confront, and live with, but it’s always there. The important thing is finding someone who stops when you say you need to stop. Because that is the only kind of person that deserves  _you_.”

He sighs, and turns then, “Dirthamen will stop if you tell him to stop, Selene. And if he doesn’t, you tell me, and I’ll do more than push him out a window. Ok?”

 

~

 

There’s a new guy at the gym.

That’s not too unusual. He’s an elf, which, given that the gym Vena goes to is elf-friendly, isn’t an uncommon development either. But he looks military, which draws the eye. Mostly on account of Victory.

It’s been one hell of a week, too. Ana got stabbed, Aelynthi got jumped, Flower almost got poisoned, and Vena’s about ready to accept any kind of distraction that willingly makes an appearance. His mind just keeps replaying the scene of finding Ana in her apartment, over and over, like a broken record of horror. ‘Newcomer’, he thinks, is about as good as anything. Though trying to show Wonder how to properly work a treadmill is pretty good, too.

But then the guy glances over at them, and opens his mouth.

“Oh, come  _on,”_  he says. “They told me this was an elven gym. I thought I’d be free of the sight of round-eared whales trying to sweat the fat out of their asses.”

Wonder falters.

Vena glares.

“Yeah, well, we don’t have any rules against gorgeous mixed-race people using the equipment. Toxic garbage is considered a health hazard, though, so you might want to watch what you say,” he counters. Wonder hits the button to stop the treadmill, however, and he hands her a towel as she hurriedly murmurs about her workout being done now anyway.

“I’ll walk you home,” Vena offers.

“No, it’s okay,” Wonder insists. “I was going to study with Inspiration anyway, I’ll just clean up and head over there. Thanks for helping me.”

“Any time,” Vena agrees. “If you want to stop by the house later we’re having movie night.”

Wonder’s cheeks darken considerably, and she mumbles something about ‘abs’ and then essentially flees.

Vena feels bad. He doesn’t know a lot about it, but he knows that for some elves, and a larger percentage of humans, their bodies are just… plump. He’s never thought it looked particularly bad, but he knows there’s assholes in every community who see it as an excuse to make snide remarks about gluttony or whatever. Aelynthi explained the horrors of the diet system in advertising one evening, when he was particularly surly about the state of the world.

Vena’s blaming him for that less and less, as time goes by.

“What’s your  _problem,_  man?” he asks the new guy, as said asshole settles into his warm-ups.

The elf gives him a look up and down, and then shrugs.

“Didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I guess I’m just a little sick of being misled,” he reasons. “You come here often?”

“Yeah,” Vena confirms.  _Now_  he’s hoping this guy being military means that he won’t be. “You passing through?”

The guy lets out a sigh.

“Nah,” he says. “I got dismissed for failing my physical. My parents figured it was a good time to refocus on my education; so here I am. Gonna recover, bulk up, re-enlist when I’ve got a better shot. It’s not easy out there, you know? Stress got to me, I think.”

Vena knows it’s not easy, in fact. Mostly secondhand on what he’s gathered about Victory’s experiences, but still. He supposes maybe he can cut the guy a  _little_  slack for being a shitheel, as long as he doesn’t do it again.

They chat some about the gym, and work-outs, and equipment. Vena gets the impression he’s being hit on for a while, but that dies off pretty quickly, too. Names are exchanged. He offers his nickname; the new guy tells him to call him ‘Sethtaren’.

“No nicknames, please. Makes me think my mother’s calling for me, every time,” he jokes.

“You’ll have trouble with me. I’m a nicknamer,” Vena admits. “But I can steer clear of shortening it, at least.”

“As long as it’s not some bullshit like ‘honey pie’, either,” Sethtaren agrees, with a chuckle. Then he takes a break, letting out a loud breath and cracking open a water bottle. He parks it on the equipment, which isn’t really the most polite thing to do – but no one else looks like they’re interested in using it, so Vena supposes it’s okay for the moment.

“So, bro to bro, where’s a good place to hook up?” Sethtaren asks him, after a while. “Good bars, parties, anything like that?”

“You lonely, bro?” Vena asks. Though something about it makes him feel uneasy, in a way he can’t really describe. For some reason it makes him think of highschool, and the ‘friends’ who’d put him up to dating Elanna on a dare.

“My dick definitely is,” Sethtaren says. “Needs some sweet, stupid piece of ass, you know? Some wide-eyed freshman who’s eager to please. I guess I’m a little late to the party to hope for a virgin, yeah?”

Vena chuckles uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” he allows. “Oh, shit, look at the time. I’m gonna be late for class…”

He makes a hasty withdrawal, at that point. Surreptitiously snaps a photo of the guy, and after a minute of consideration, sends it to Aelynthi.

_You know all the safety networks on campus, right? P sure this guy’s some kind of sexual predator. Talks like it._

There’s a pause.

Then his phone jangles.

_You’re at the gym?_

_Yeah,_  he confirms. Is that relevant? Is there some kind of Sexual Predator strike force that’s going to rain down on Sethtaren or something?

No one ever seems to tell him about these things…

_Can you keep him there? It’ll take me about ten minutes to get there._

_Sure, but, he didn’t really do anything. Just talked shit,_  Vena replies, uncertainly. He doesn’t really want to go back to trying out the buddy-buddy shit at this point. But he supposes he can manage, a little. If it’s important.

_That’s Thenvunin’s ex,_  Aelynthi tells him.  _I need to murder him._

Oh.

Fuck.

That doesn’t… bode well. For a lot of things.

…Fuck.

_Homicide is a serious crime, bro. Think long and hard,_  Vena mentions. Should he text Thenvunin? He thinks of the thing with Selene and almost immediately nixes that idea. Besides, he’s pretty sure Thenvunin’s at the jeweller’s on the other side of town, picking up his Wintersend gift for Uthvir. Definitely further away than Tropical Storm Aelynthi, who is probably doing that thing with his eyes right now.

The terrifying thing.

Maybe… maybe Uthvir…?

Vena considers. If it was some trashbag ex of Elanna’s…

Well. Possibly, if a murder does happen, at least there will be an extra set of sympathetic hands to help hide the body.

_Hey. Sorry to bother you sib but Thenvunin’s evil ex is at the gym and Aelynthi is coming 2 murder him._

Aelynthi texts him back before Uthvir replies.

_You can help me cover it up._

It’s probably a bad sign that they’re all thinking the same thing, right?

_Dude, what did he DO?_  he finally just asks. Because he has his suspicions, obviously, but still. If he’s going to help murder a man, or at least be an accomplice of  _some_  kind, he wants to know why.

_Just know that it’s enough for his death to be deserved,_  Aelynthi assures him.

Yeah… Vena has faith in his bro’s abilities to judge who needs their ass kicked, but still. He supposes he really does have to stick around, just in case he needs to help. The guy’s military, after all. He could have Templar training. Unlikely, since he’s an elf and usually Templars are barely more tolerant of elves than mages, but still. You never know.

He wanders back over to the equipment.

“Skipping class?” Sethtaren asks.

Vena shrugs.

“I figure if I’m gonna be late anyway, I might as well just with the work-out,” he reasons. “So. You’re looking to get on the hook-up scene. Any past conquests you want to brag about?” The word ‘conquests’ curdles a little on his tongue.

Sethtaren just laughs.

“Of course, my man,” he says. “I was an early bloomer. You wouldn’t think enlisting was a good way to hook up, but you know. Fellas help each other out. As long as you get higher up on the totem pole, you can keep the high ground for yourself. Especially with the elves from alienages, you know? They’re used to that kind of thing from the shems anyway. Put up and shut up, just like they’re supposed to. Better than the Dalish, who keep knives on ‘em for ‘religious reasons’. Or the Arlathan types. Whiny bitches, those ones. I went to highschool there, and the high-maintenance jokes are all true, my man.”

Highschool. Vena kind of remembers Thenvunin saying something about a highschool boyfriend who ended up in the military.

“Arlathan, huh?” he asks, trying not to gag a little. Fuck. At this rate he’s going to be holding the asshole down while Aelynthi punches.

Sethtaren puffs up a bit.

“Yeah, my old man got a contract with the Evanuris family for a few years. Don’t want to brag, but I’ve got connections.”

“I’ve heard the elves who live there are pretty hot,” Vena says, lightly.

“True, true,” Sethtaren allows, chuckling. “There was this blond. Clingy as  _fuck,_  like, a total ‘let’s celebrate the anniversary of our first kiss’ or whatever type. Slamming body, though. I wrecked him fast and hard.”

Vena goes cold at the way this guy’s laughing. The whole setup. The phrasing, the tone. It’s all just…

Fuck.

Aelynthi’s going to kill this shit. And probably get in a lot of trouble, because it’ll be the second ‘fight’ he’s gotten into on campus. That’s not good, Vena thinks. Bros don’t let bros get expelled for being good, decent bros. He straightens up a little, and tucks his phone away.

“Your blond have a name?” he wonders, casually.

Sethtaren shrugs.

“Yeah.  _Thenvunin,”_  he says, snickering, like it’s a funny name or something. Or like something about saying it amuses him.

Vena nods, slowly.

Then he walks over to where the guy’s lifting, grabs the bar, and presses down.

Sethtaren lets out a curse of surprise as the weights are pushed onto him. Pinning him by the chest, as his arms struggle and he sputter a little.

“Holy fuck, what the fuck are you doing?!”

He tries to reach past the bar to claw at Vena’s arms.

“So, funny story,” Vena says, ignoring it as Sethtaren’s nails dig into his forearms. “There’s a bro in my fraternity. Really nice guy. A little uptight sometimes, but not really. You know? Always seemed to have some hang-ups about relationships, but I guess a lot of people do. I like him. He’s done me a lot of favours. He’s a good friend. I like my friends. My good, decent friends, who don’t deserve to get  _stabbed,_  or  _attacked_ , or  _talked shit about._ ” He presses down harder on the bar, and Sethtaren shouts in panic. Some of the other gym members are heading over, now.

“What the fuck!?” Sethtaren spits.

“My bro’s name is Thenvunin, man,” Vena tells him. “And you, you fucking piece of shit-“

“Vena! Dude!”

One of the physical trainers gets to them, then, and Vena’s anger deflates enough that she and a few others manage to wrestle him away. By then Aelynthi’s turned up; red-faced and, yup, his eyes are doing that  _thing,_  and Sethtaren pauses in the middle of threatening lawsuits when he sees him, and just  _books_  it.

It’s almost impressive, in fact.

Especially considering his ribs are probably bruised.

He staggers down the opposite stairway, as Aelynthi goes tearing after him, screaming for help while the rest of the gym seems like they’re trying to figure out what the hell is going on. One of the trainers starts asking Vena.

“I’ll explain but first I gotta go help my bro,” he replies, and tears off after both of them.

Sethtaren’s a quick runner, though. Like, Aelynthi’s very fast – especially when he’s pissed – and as they get out onto the street, Vena can kind of tell that he’s trying to cast spells to trip the guy. But the sidewalks are warded, of course, and Sethtaren sprints like a pack of ravenous mabari are on his heels and his shirt’s make out of steak.

He veers straight into the street, at one point, and nearly gets hit by traffic before disappearing up the road, and b-lining for the chantry just past the intersection. Cars honk and Aelynthi curses, and has to stagger to a stop to avoid colliding with a cyclist. Sethtaren vanishes into the chantry.

“Fuck,” Vena says.

He’s not actually sure, at this point, if he’s relieved the guy got away or not. On the one hand, he’s pissed enough to strangle him. On the other hand, murder’s a pretty serious charge and there are maybe-definitely more than enough witnesses.

Aelynthi swears, too.

“I’m going in after him.”

“Dude, no,” Vena replies, catching his elbow. “Like the whole campus knows you’re getting into scrapes with Templars left and right. If you go pick a fight in the chantry,  _no one_  is going to overlook that. Meredith will seem more credible.” Besides which, he highly doubts the sisters would appreciate having a blood mage beat up his best-friend’s ex in the middle of morning service.

Aelynthi’s look doesn’t exactly scream ‘devout Andrastrian’, either.

His bro looks like he’s just swallowed a lemon.

“Squirrely fucking rat goddamn piece of shit bastard,” he mutters, and smacks a hand angrily against a nearby streetlight.

Vena sighs.

“Look, the most important thing is to try and make sure he can’t do any more damage, right?” he reasons. “Get the word out. Make sure everyone knows he’s a scumbag, so he doesn’t get invited to parties, so people can keep an eye open at bars and stuff.”

Aelynthi scowls.

“…I’ll have to tell Thenvunin,” he says. “Shit.”

“How’s he gonna take it?” Vena wonders.

Aelynthi’s quiet for a minute. At length, he just shrugs.

“We’ll find out, I guess. Sethtaren broke up with him. He was… he thought it was his fault. But he’s got Uthvir, now.”

Uthvir.

Shit.

Vena checks his phone, but there’s no reply to his message. He lets out a breath. Well, Sethtaren’s not at the gym anymore. Uthvir must be doing something else, he reasons. Missed the message. That’s probably a good thing, overall.

“I’ll help,” he offers.

But Aelynthi shakes his head.

“No. This stuff’s really private for Thenvunin. I… if you could, maybe just don’t mention that you know  _anything_  about it? I think that’d be easier for him.”

Vena sighs.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I can do that.”

~

Uthvir gets to the gym just in time to see a wildly fleeing elf interrupt traffic, as Aelynthi and Vena tear after him like a pair of enraged wolves. They watch as the man head into the chantry; as the chase is thwarted. Pausing for a moment as Thenvunin’s fraternity brothers seem to give up. Withdraw. Probably planning to regroup.

They slip between two shops, sneaking through the back lot of one of them, and head for the chantry themselves.

The soft sounds of singing can be heard throughout the air. Service is in session, they suppose. They take off their coat, and brush a hand through their hair, fluffing it a little to give themselves more of that ‘devil-may-care youth’ look and less of the hard edges they normally cultivate. One of the sisters still gives them a dubious look by the door, but they slide a few bills into the donation box, and as ever, that suddenly earns them a sunnier welcome.

The pews are about half full. Mostly with humans, though there seems to be a dwarven family sitting at the front. The elf they’re looking for isn’t hard to spot, though. He’s dressed in his workout gear, and he shoots a panicked glance towards the door before he sees Uthvir, and relaxes some.

They make their way over to him, and settle onto the bench beside him. Listening to the chant songs, and approximating the appropriate motions through some of the prayers. They’ve never attended an Andrastrian service before, but they’ve seen them in films and television enough to fake their way through.

The elf beside them seems even more out to sea.

Uthvir glances at him, and offers him a smile.

“First time?” they ask, quietly.

He nods, and then glances around a little.

“To be honest, I’m hiding from my psycho ex’s psycho friends,” he tells them.

They adopt an expression of mingled sympathy and surprise.

“Bad break-up?” they ask, underneath the surge of a new verse.

Thenvunin’s ex-boyfriend adopts a pained look, and nods. Edging a little closer to them on the bench.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he says. “It happened years ago.  _Years._  But I just get into town and he’s filled everyone’s heads with this idea that I hurt him. Typical abuser tactics, you know? Play the victim card fast and early. I never laid a hand on him, he just couldn’t let me go.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Uthvir murmurs, and reaches out to pat his hand. They glance back towards the chantry entrance. “Can you describe them? If you want, when the service is done, I can make sure they’re not still waiting around for you.”

“Would you?” he asks.

“Of course!” they promise.

They have to sit through another half an hour of singing, then. But it’s not actually so bad. The day’s theme seems particularly fond of verses about burning people. It’s easier to reconcile than the way Asshole Fucker sidles up closer to them as things move along, and glances speculatively at their crotch a few times. Or when he stretches an arm onto the bench behind them.

They don’t rebuff it, though.

When the service finally ends, they dutifully go and ‘check’ for the elves the guy describes to them. And then they come back, and shake their head.

“I think they’re gone,” they say. “But it’s a little crowded to tell for certain. I know a restaurant nearby, though. The proprietor’s a friend of mine. If you want, we could go there. You look like you could use a stiff drink, even if it’s a little early.”

The man considers this.

Then he grins.

“Only if you drink with me,” he replies.

Uthvir smirks.

“Oh, of course,” they agree, and link their arm through his own.

They lead him out of the chantry. Past the donation box, and the sisters. Onto the street, and then down through a ‘shortcut’. A muddy back-alley, with a brick wall and a dumpster at the end. The man turns, the faintest hint of unease entering his countenance just as Uthvir reaches up, and grabs the back of his head, and slams his face against the wall.

It’s been a long time since they flexed these muscles, they think, as Fear darkens the shadows, and their magic swallows the man’s cry of pain.

“Shit,” he swears. “Shit, fuck, what are you doing?”

“You didn’t think Aelynthi was the  _only_  one Vena called, did you?” Uthvir replies, as they straighten their sleeves.

The man edges back towards the dumpster, clutching his face.

“Fuck. Listen. Just, it wasn’t what he said, okay?”

Uthvir glances at him.

“He never says much of anything about you, as a matter of fact,” they reply. “And I don’t want to hear his name from your lips. I don’t want to hear you try and slander him. Try and justify your actions. I trust the injuries he’s still healing from, and Aelynthi’s fairly obvious desire to castrate you, better than your word. I mean, you even had  _Vena_  tearing after you. I don’t think he’s terribly well-versed in these things.”

The man hesitates, uncertain.

Uthvir’s claws are getting longer.

“What the fuck,” he asks quietly. “Okay. Just. What are you even planning to do? We’ve broken up. I’ll never speak to him again, okay?”

“Good,” Uthvir says.

It earns them a moment of hesitation.

“So I can go?” he asks.

“I’m considering letting you go,” Uthvir admist. “I don’t want you bothering anyone about this. At all. I don’t want you staying in town. I’d give you twenty-four hours to get your ass out of here, and Thenvunin had better not see you before that happens. No matter how difficult it is. You could try going to the authorities, of course. But I would recommend just leaving if I deign to be that merciful. Because, you see, the problem for you now is that the rational part of me is saying that the best thing for everyone is if you just stop being an issue. But you’ve already done so much damage. So the part of me that’s madly in love with Thenvunin just wants to rip off your testicles and shove them down your throat, and damn the consequences.”

They rotate their hand, slightly, and the shadows start to sink into sharp, jagged points in the air of the alleyway. Their magic sparking, threateningly, as the whole world seems to be sealed away from this one little spot. Just them, and a man they don’t even know, but hate very much.

_Very_  much.

Enough that they’re not really going to examine that ‘madly in love’ line right now.

“Listen,” the man says, lifting his hands as a dark spot of wetness spreads across the front of his pants. “Listen, I don’t – I’ll go, okay? You’ll never see me again. I’ll go right now. Just pack everything and leave.”

What a sniveling, pathetic coward.

They stare at him for a long moment.

_Thenvunin loved him. Thenvunin thought how he treated him was normal. That he deserved it._

“I want something else,” they decide.

The stench of Fear increases, exponentially. Their spirit partner can pick up on all of the wisps of what’s terrifying the wretch. Disgusting things; the things  _he_  would do to someone at his own mercy. Uthvir doesn’t like the cross-pollination, in some places, with their own furious impulses.

They don’t want to be like this man.

Thenvunin deserves better.

“What?” he asks.

“A letter,” the decide. “I want you to apologise to him.” They unsling their bag from their shoulder, and as incongruous as it is with much of the moment, they pull out a notebook and a pen. The  _click_  resounds through the shadowed alleyway. The man nearly drops it as they move closer to hand it to him; the air still heavy with the threat of bloodshed.

“What the fuck should I say?” he asks, and laughs, nervously, before moving further away at the look in Uthvir’s eye.

They ponder it, for a moment.

And then they tell him.

~

Thenvunin is feeding the finches when Aelynthi sits him down, and carefully explains that Sethtaren is in town.

Sethtaren is going to school here, now.

He has to sit down.

“You don’t have to see him,” Aelynthi immediately asserts. “You’ve been broken up for years. I’ll k- I’ll help.”

“It’s okay, bro,” he manages. He’d been doing good so far, today. The sudden tangling of emotions in his chest is an unwelcome development. He kind of wants to just lift up his knees and go hide in a corner of his bed for a while. Aelynthi and Sethtaren never got along. Sethtaren was always afraid that Aelynthi wanted to break them up, that he was jealous. And Aelynthi was always saying that Sethtaren was a jerk and that Thenvunin  _should_ break up with him, which had seemed to kind of… line up with that.

The drama had gotten to be too much. That was what Sethtaren had said. When he’d finally put his foot down and told Thenvunin to cut Aelynthi off, and Thenvunin couldn’t do it, because they were childhood friends and he loved Aelynthi, and eventually his bro would understand and couldn’t Sethtaren just be patient?

_You don’t love me enough._

_You aren’t good enough for me._

_Everything I give to you, and it’s always another thing. You take and you take, Thenvunin, and you can’t even choose me, when it comes down to it._

_High-maintenance fucking waste of my time._

_Go ahead, then. Go suck his prick. Then he can find out how shit you are in bed anyway._

Sethtaren figured out all the secrets about Thenvunin. All his true, painful failings. And he left him for it.

What if he meets Uthvir?

What if he  _tells_  Uthvir?

Thenvunin briefly entertains the idea of Uthvir being outraged. He remembers half-done conversations, and awkward moments, of Uthvir disparaging Thenvunin’s past lovers. He thinks of them telling Sethtaren to get bent, and winding their arm around his waist.  _Come on, babe, I’m sick of listening to this asshole’s voice._

But then he thinks of another scenario. Where Uthvir listens to Sethtaren. Where they realize that Sethtaren is an amazing, wonderful person, and all the stuff they took for signs of him ever having been a bad boyfriend were really just proof that  _Thenvunin_  was one.  _You never do go down on me. I’ve done a lot of stuff, and you never repay me for it. I guess you never will, huh? Wow. Wish I’d figured you out sooner. What a waste of my time…_

“Don’t let Uthvir meet him,” he asks Aelynthi, at last.

“Uthvir will hate him,” Aelynthi tells him.

“Just – please, help me. I just, I don’t want that… crossing over,” he admits. Looking his childhood friend in the eye. “I don’t want them to break up with me because of the drama.”

Aelynthi’s expression falters a little.

“They won’t,” he says. But then he sighs, and grasps him by the shoulder. “I don’t see why they would meet. But we can keep an eye out. Make sure there’s less chance of that, and all.”

“Thank you,” Thenvunin replies.

Still. When Aelynthi’s gone, he texts Uthvir to ask where they are.

_Studying in my room,_  they say.  _Bored. You want to come over?_

Their room. Not somewhere they’re liable to meet new people. He decides he does want to see them, on balance. And maybe some of his unease is showing, despite his best efforts, because when he gets there, he finds them lacking in their usual teasing and innuendo. And spikes, even. They’re just in soft sweats and a t-shirt, and they wedge him up onto the bed with him, and watch YouTube videos with him for a break from the books.

He likes this.

He remembers when he came to them, after Glory flirted with him. And then called him, and told him he needed to come over because Uthvir found out, and they were sad. Because… they like him. Because they didn’t want him to pick someone else over them.

“I like being your boyfriend,” he tells them, quietly, after a video of birds playing with napkins comes to a close.

Uthvir leans up, and kisses him. Soft and thorough. Their lips working against his own for a while, before they rest against his shoulder, and breathe in deeply.

“I like being your signif,” they say. “You’re a good boyfriend. You make me very, very happy.”

He closes his eyes, as the knot in his chest finally untangles most of the way.

“You make it easy,” he tells them.

They grin.

“You’re not exactly a chore yourself, babe,” they say.

Then they kiss him some more, and it’s good. It’s warm and easy and good, and he reminds himself of that throughout the rest of the day. And the next. It’s different between them than it was with him and Sethtaren. Highschool, and all – and Uthvir’s just… they just click better, maybe.

He does the mail run the next day, and almost freezes solid when he finds a letter addressed to him in Sethtaren’s handwriting.

He’s quiet about it, as he takes it home with him. Flower greets him at the door, and tries to eat it. For a few seconds he’s almost tempted to just let her. What does it say? Why would Sethtaren write him? He’d been… pretty clear on their break-up, when it happened. Done with Thenvunin, the unworthy boyfriend, and his drama. He swallows, and stares at it, and then shoves it into his bag before he heads for his morning work-out.

Why would Sethtaren write?

To ask him to take him back?

Thenvunin used to dream about that.  _I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I love you after all._

A year ago, he thinks, he would have ripped open that letter as if it might have contained a winning lottery ticket.

He goes through his shorter circuit in the brisk, winter air, and passes a familiar red outline. Uthvir falls into step alongside him. Easy and admiring, smiling a little bit as they look at the boots on his feet. He still has to figure out how he wants to give them their own Wintersend gift.

His mind drifts back to the letter.

Maybe Sethtaren needs help?

Maybe he needs money?

They glance over at Uthvir.

_Whoever told you that, that paying for a meal or being able to lift more, or being older or more experienced or whatever… whoever told you that stuff was a lying sack of shit, and if I ever get my hands on them I’m going to tear them a new asshole and then shove their own fucking head…_

_No one ever chooses me._

When he finishes his run, Thenvunin grabs Uthvir’s scarf, and pulls them in for a quick kiss.

“Want to have lunch with me today?” he asks

They blink, but nod.

“Sure, babe,” they agree. “My treat?”

He swallows.

“If you want,” he agrees.

When he gathers up his stuff from the car, then, he pulls the envelope in Sethtaren’s writing out. Stares at it for another moment. And then walks over to the nearest trash can, and drops it inside.

Uthvir watches him. A curious look in their own eye.

“Junk mail?” they ask, and if he was paying a bit more attention to their tone, he might notice the uncommon gentleness to it.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I don’t need it.”


	11. Thunder and Lightning

 

With Alaris and Haleir both successfully gone, Selene takes a few hours to catch her breath. She makes her way back to her apartment, gets some homework done, showers (and if she scrubs just a little harder than usual that’s no one’s business but her own). It’s snowing enough now that classes have been canceled, and she regrets calling out of her shift at work.

She texts Melanadahl.

 

←  Need an extra hand?

→ I s2g if u show up im kicking u out.

← :( Mean. What if I just want to read?

→ no u r banned from reading 2day

→ go b lazy

→ throw snwblls @ppl

→ take a nap

→ find a cute animal to play w/.

 

Selene sighs at her phone and flops backwards onto her bed.

She could go see Dirthamen, she supposes. She hasn’t talked to him since she was in the hospital. He hasn’t returned her texts, and she’s not sure if he’s just busy, or actively avoiding her.

Either way, it might be better not to bother him.

 

She shoots a message to Adannar instead

← Busy?

 

It takes only a few minutes for her phone to buzz back.

→  img.09225.12.22 received

→ ITS FLOWERS FIRST SNOW DAY!!!!!!!!! :))))))

 

Selene snickers

← Hasn’t it been snowing all week though?

→ this is better sel come see

← On my way.

 

Selene bundles up with a scarf and thick sweater and a used pair of boots and heads out towards the house.

She waves at Adannar when she sees him standing around in the snow, a small gold and pink creature bouncing around him that could only be Flower.

“You dressed her up?” Selene asks, bending down to pet the puppy who is wearing booties and a scarf of their own.

“Serahlin got them for her! Wasn’t that nice?”

“Mm-hm,” she responds while Flower flops over and she rubs her belly for her. 

“So I hear things with you and Serahlin are going well?”

“Yeah! It’s incredible Sel. She’s incredible. Things are awesome.” he grins.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Flower barks, and starts bouncing through the snow, half sinking into the snow each time she preps for a leap.

 

The door to the house opens then, and Dirthamen and Tasallir step out together. Selene pauses, heart pounding and tries not to fidget when her eyes meet Dirthamens. He nods at her, and continues on his way to wherever it is they’re headed.

 

She lets out a tense breath once they’re gone, and Adannar nudges her shoulder.

“What was that?”

“I think he’s mad at me.”

“That doesn’t sound like him, and if he were really mad at you he wouldn’t be- _uhhhhhhh_ ,”

Selene raises an eyebrow at him “ ‘beuh?'”

“Nothing. I’m not supposed to talk about it. I don’t think I’m supposed to know about it either. And I don’t!”

“Addannar.”

He whistles nervously for Flower, who ignores him to play with the snowbirds in the yard.

“ _Addy_.”

“Yes, Sel?” he asks innocently.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing! Just. Dirthamens definitely not mad at you. You two’re going to Wintersend together right?”

Selene nods “Yeah, if he still wants to.”

“Oh, he still wants to.” Adannar laughs. “Are you getting him anything?”

“I was going to try and get him a keyboard since he likes to play piano, but I’ve been wondering if maybe that’s too impersonal, after everything. What are you getting Serahlin?”

“I’ve been working on a jewelry set for her! Tas helped me with the initial design, so hopefully it won’t like, upset her again.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” Selene smiles.

 

“I hope so. I love her, Sel. I know it’s really early, but I’m so sure of it. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything. I’m gonna marry her one day, if she’ll have me.”

“That’s…” Selene hesitates. “I mean, it’s definitely early still. You can really tell already?”

“Of course! I’ve known since I met her, you know? It’s like when I saw her it was just like 'oh, there she is!’. Like I was looking without really knowing it, y'know?”

“I don’t. But I’m happy for you. I hope things work out for the both of you.”

“What about with Dirthamen?” Adannar hints.

 

Selene sighs “It’s not…I don’t know. I like him. A lot. More than I’ve liked anyone else. But he’s…” she gestures vaguely in the air, and Adannar nods sagely “And I’m just…me. I don’t really have anything to offer him. Even the stuff I’m supposed to be able to offer him, I don’t know if I can do. Like 'hey I know you’re super smart and rich and handsome and perfect and I’m struggling and broken and I talk too much but I thought maybe you’d like to get together anyways’? Who would go for that?”

 

Adannar watches Flower tumble into a snowbank and shake herself off before responding.

“I think when you look at Dirthamen, you see something different than the rest of us do.”

 

“So you think I’m deluding myself about him?”

 

“Nah. You’re good at seeing through people’s disguises, even though you don’t bring ‘em up, and you don’t get to argue that with me because I’ve seen you do it on multiple occasions. Even on me. Dirthamen’s got a lot of walls, from a lot of stuff he doesn’t talk about much. You managed to scale them somehow, like they didn’t even exist. On some level, you two instinctively connect. He needs that, and I think you might, too.”

 

Selene is quiet then, until Flower bumps into her legs and looks up at her expectantly. Bending down, she goes to rub behind Flowers ears, warming her hands slightly with her magic. Flower jumps onto her then, tail wagging, and Selene laughs.

 

“I think maybe Flower’s done with being cold.”

“She’s a smart dog.” he laughs “You hungry? We’ve still got a ton of leftovers in the fridge.”

“Yeah, actually. Got any of the Antivan left?”

 

~

 

It’s disgustingly early in the morning.

Aelynthi has actually been up all night, if he’s being honest. There are a few projects he absolutely  _needs_  to get done, and one of his portraits is small enough that he can work on it at the House, so he does. He sets up shop in the kitchen and spends the entire night fussing over the piece, not quite satisfied with it even come dawn, but by then he isn’t sure if it’s because there’s something actually wrong with it still, or if he’s just so sick of looking at it that he can’t even tell anymore.

He blinks at the sunlight, and goes to wash his hands. Too late to get even a few hours. Well; that’s what coffee’s for, ostensibly. He puts on a pot and contemplates breakfast when Adannar emerges, dressed in his pyjamas and yawning as he leads Flower to the door. The puppy’s still learning to behave herself in the yard.

“Bro, can you watch her while I use the bathroom?” Adannar asks. “Our bladders have synchronized or something.”

“Sure,” Aelynthi agrees, and pours himself a coffee, before he goes over to the door. It’s a cold morning, and hanging out with the open door makes it colder. But he kind of like the sharpness. It helps keep him awake, and the coffee mug warms his hands as Flower stakes out her hydrant, and relieves herself. A jogger goes by.

Aelynthi’s contemplating one of his sculptures, and it takes him a minute to realize that the jogger has stopped. It’s a woman. Blonde and sharp-featured, and he thinks she looks naggingly familiar as she pulls something out of her pocket, and tries to offer it to Flower. Who, friendly thing that she is, immediately starts wagging her tail and going over to investigate the new person.

“Hey!” he calls, sharply.

The jogger looks up, and quickly withdraws her hand, and takes off again.

“Flower!” Aelynthi calls, and whistles. The puppy turns at the sound – more interested than properly trained, at this point. “Flower, come get a treat!” he adds, just to be extra sure, and  _that_  gets the puppy bounding over like nobody’s business. She scrambles inside, and Aelynthi takes a second to give her a treat from the jar by the door, before slipping outside and shutting her in behind him. He pads over to the hydrant, and finds a little white pill on the sidewalk. Looks like some kind of headache medication. Those are usually lethal to dogs, aren’t they? He scowls, and picks it up, and frowns down the street.

The jogger is gone.

But that face is still nagging in the back of his mind.

When he gets back inside, Adannar’s gotten started on breakfast, and Flower is dutifully sitting by her dish.

“Hey, bro. That was a short run,” Adannar jokes. “You get down the lane and realize you were still in your skinny jeans?”

“No,” Aelynthi replies, internally debating. Better safe than sorry, though. “Some jogger went by while you were in the bathroom. She tried to feed Flower a bunch of pills, I think. I went out and checked and found one by the hydrant.”

He shows Adannar the pill in his hand, and the man pales.

“Wha…? But that would kill her!” he protests. “Who the  ** _fuck_**  would do that?!”

Aelynthi blinks. He doesn’t think he’s actually heard Adannar swear before; though he wouldn’t say it’s unmerited.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “She was human. Blonde. Looked kind of familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her before. I’ll check some things, though. But in the meantime, I guess we’ll have to keep a close eye on Flower. And maybe start training her not to take things from strangers.”

Adannar still looks stricken. He goes over to the puppy by her dish, and checks her over.

“You sure she didn’t eat any?” he asks, while Flower happily licks his fingers.

“She didn’t get close enough before I shouted,” Aelynthi promises.

“Poor puppy. Don’t you go taking poison from messed up people, okay? Or. Well. Don’t take poison from anyone, actually. Poison’s not good.”

Flower licks at Adannar’s chin, and he picks her up and snuggles her a bit.

When the rest of the House starts to wake up, then, word spreads pretty quick. All blonde human women are to be subjected to a certain degree of scrutiny before being let near Flower. Thenvunin decides he needs to go and check his finches’ food for tampering – he apparently left the bag sitting outside for a few minutes while he was bringing a few things in, but Aelynthi doesn’t think it’s actually high risk. Still. He’s not going to judge; he helps sort through it for any signs of pills or weird powder or anything.

“I’m gonna call Serahlin,” Adannar reasons. “She knows everyone who knows everyone. She might even know who jogs by this way.” He frowns at his phone, while Vena takes a turn subjecting Flower to ‘I’m so glad nothing  _actually_  happened to you’ kisses.

“I will check some things, too,” Dirthamen says, mysteriously, and then vanishes back into his room.

“I don’t understand,” Tasallir says. “Why would someone want to kill Adannar’s dog? He has no enemies. The dog has no enemies. This is unacceptable.”

“It’s disgusting, bro, is what it is. People like that should swallow their own poison,” Thenvunin passionately declares. Aelynthi remembers, all at once, the reaction he’d had as children when one of the older kids in their play group had made a joke about snapping his birds’ necks. Thenvunin had still been in his leg braces, but damn if he hadn’t tackled the shit out of that kid.

Aelynthi feels like the lynchpin, though, since he was the one who actually  _saw_  her. So while all the drama is still going on, he heads for his laptop, and starts checking all the likely facebooks and watch lists where he might have seen her.

In the end it’s the hair that throws him off, that means it’s not until noon, when he’s wolfing down lunch and browsing through the consanguinities’ black list that something clicks while he’s looking at a picture of an asshole in a Templar shirt. Templar. But she usually wears her hair pulled back, away from her face, except for a few tendrils down the side. He switches over to his favourite Mage Rights blog and starts scrolling through, and  _there._

Meredith Stannard.

One of the most obnoxious pro-Templar types on campus. From Kirkwall, originally. According to  _her_  blog, she chose to study in Ferelden to ‘see firsthand the spread of the Mage Supremacist agenda’. Her family has strong chantry connections, which has made controlling her a thorny nest of issues. There are numerous reports of her menacing mage students, and one such student, Orsino, is adamant that she had a hand in harassing his friend Maud to the point of suicide. Her online history is a stream of vitriol that has Aelynthi’s lip curling. She moderates one of the more popular pro-Templar message boards, has a military background, and seems to have had actual Templar training in highschool courtesy of Kirkwall’s archaic education systems.

And she’s talked about their fraternity, apparently.

She seems to be labouring under the misconception that they’re  _all_  blood mages. There’s a post where she mentions the likelihood of ‘that animal of theirs’ turning up suddenly dead, with some hand-waved explanation, because  _of course_  they’re planning on using her blood in some evil ritual to cheat their way through finals.

Aelynthi supposes Flower was looking a bit too lively and well-loved for the picture she was trying to paint.

He feels a rush of liquid hot rage.

His fingers are flying before he even thinks twice. Getting in contact with everyone from Glory to Orsino, posting to the Mages Beware message boards, describing the full incident and pointing the finger directly at Stannard. He has no doubt, now that he’s seen her picture. Within the hour, his post is blowing up, and he’s got a very dry reply from Orsino that essentially amounts to ‘I’m really not surprised, but she’s going to try and discredit you just FYI’, and Serahlin’s sorority seems to pick up the news amazingly fast and run with it, too.

Of course, it inflames the existing campus debate as to whether or not students with pro-Templar views should be tolerated on campus. Which Aelynthi has often participated in, because the counter arguments are usually things like ‘free speech!!!’ and ‘you’ll let  _filthy blood mages_  practice their  _filthy blood magic_  here but you won’t like HOLY KNIGHTS OF ANDRASTE just quietly study in peace?!’

Credit where it’s due on that last argument, though, at least  _then_  they’re comparing a learned skill with a learned skill. As opposed to when they just start screaming about mages even existing  _at all._

Forum moderators have their hands full before long. The pro-Templar contingent starts in with ‘you’re just making this up so that if your dog turns up dead  _now_  you can point the finger at us’, which starts up a Protect Flower movement and most of Aelynthi’s friends and acquaintances screaming back that if the dog dies, they will indeed know  _exactly_  who to blame. Some death threats get tossed out, which is no good. The whole mess is still raging as he heads for the workshop from his afternoon class, and he’s maybe paying just a  _little_ too much attention to his phone.

The blow comes from the side; quick and brutal, slamming into his temple. He drops his phone and staggers back as he sees stars, and reaches for his magic before he can think twice. A burst of sparks rush out from a circle around his feet, before sputtering and dying prematurely.

Fuck.

Templars.

“Lying knife-ear roby!” someone spits, and something hard smacks across the back of his shoulders. He staggers, and then breaks out into a flat run. Distance. He needs distance. His back burns and his face throbs, the world dissolving for a few moments into shadowed streets and turns until he hears ragged breaths too close behind him.

Taking a chance, he stops dead, and slams his head back.

The impact’s enough to make his throbbing temple surge and stars dance across his vision again, but it earns him a muffled curse and scream, and he feels that familiar sense-scent-sensation that his magic recognizes as blood. Power. He seizes it, whirling around and casting a shattering barrier that further repels his pursuers.

And gives him a chance to properly see them, too.

They’re wearing scarves on the bottoms of their faces, like damn highway bandits from a  _cartoon,_  but Aelynthi still recognizes them. Stannard, and Alrik.

Shit.

If there’s a human Aelynthi  _never_  wants to meet in a back alley somewhere, it’s Alrik.

Who is not sporting a broken nose that’s gushing into his scarf. That  _should_  make identifying him trickier, but his hideous mutton chops are sticking out around his ‘disguise’.

“Templar fuckers!” he snaps back, furious and a little frightened as Meredith snaps something about blood magic. Like she didn’t start this fight. Alrik’s nose is still bleeding, though, so even though his usual spells feel sluggish and far-away, Aelynthi manages another bursting barrier. He ignites it properly, this time, and Meredith’s shirt catches on fire.

That seems to be enough for them.

Alrik staggers back, and the two take off. Aelynthi thinks if his head was swimming just a  _little_ less, or maybe if he was a  _bit_  more of an idiot, he would take off after them. But it isn’t, and he’s not. So instead  he keeps on going down the street, before he remembers that he dropped his phone. He’s not sure it’s safe to go back for it, though. But he’s close to Ess’s bar, so he detours down that way. Forgoing the extra length of trip to the workshop, and staggering in as the pain really starts to settle into place.

“Holy  _shit,”_  Ess exclaims. “Who hit you?”

“Templar. Alrik, I think. Maybe Meredith, I didn’t actually see who swung first,” Aelynthi replies, making his way over to the bar. Ess gives him a seat and pours him a glass of water and ice pack, and phones the police. He doubts that will do much good, though. So far as he knows, he’s the only witness, and whenever it comes down to a mage’s word against someone else’s, suddenly the justice system’s hands are tied and there’s ‘no way of knowing what  _really_  happened’. Alrik and Meredith will corroborate each other on whatever happened.

Still. He sticks around until the police turn up, and gives them a statement. Ess offers to drive him to the hospital, but while he’s going to have to mind the head injury, he highly doubts he’s got more than a few bruises.

“Could you give me a lift home, though?” he asks.

“Yeah. My shift’s done; Lath can close up,” Ess agrees, and drives him back to the frat house.

Elven solidarity. Aelynthi’s a fan.

There’s really no disguising that he’s been in a fight, though, and he curses his luck a little when he barely gets through the door before Thenvunin sees him. His friend looks at his slightly cringed posture and the bruises on the side of his face, and his expression goes stony. Furious, Aelynthi recognizes.

“Who?” he demands.

“Don’t know,” he says. “Some pro-Templar types, I think. Don’t worry about it, Thenvunin, I chased them off. I’ve had worse.”

“Was it that Meredith woman?” Thenvunin demands. “She can’t get away with that! None of them can! There are rules. There are  _laws._  She’s a student here, isn’t she? I’ll duel her.”

“No,  _I’ll_  duel her,” Aelynthi counters. She attacked  _him,_  he’s not letting his friends get in even more trouble over it. Shit, she probably even targeted Flower because just one confirmed blood mage was in this fraternity, and of course, Templar logic, that means they all are. Even if most of them aren’t even mages.

Thenvunin frowns.

“Magic isn’t allowed in duels with non-mages, even if they’re Templar types. I’ll fight her,” he insists. “I’m going to petition school administration. But not right now; you need to go to the hospital.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Aelynthi counters.

“You’re going to walk around with a face full of bruises just because you’re stubborn?” Thenvunin says, folding his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous. What if there’s damage you can’t feel? Come on. We’ll get it over with. I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

“Thenvunin-“

“Bro.”

“It’s  _fine.”_

“It’s the opposite of fine!” his friend snaps. “Those shitheads are not allowed to do this, and if you want to use your secret network or whatever to deal with it, then fine. But a healer is looking at you.”

Aelynthi grumbles a bit, mostly on principle, as Thenvunin gently but firmly gets him back out of the door and drags him to the hospital. Somewhere along the way he mentions his lost phone, and when they’ve managed to park, Thenvunin pulls out his own and starts texting somebody.

A lot.

“It’s probably not still there,” he says, eventually. “But Uthvir’s checking.”

There’s an awkward pause that seems to suffuse the whole car.

“Tell Uthvir to be careful,” Aelynthi finally says.

Thenvunin glances at him in a way that implies that ‘be careful’ was texted to Uthvir approximately nine million times, and that they’ve probably also got like six other people with them to comb the block and see if they can find Aelynthi’s probably-broken phone.

“This was a hate crime, you know,” Thenvunin says, point-blank.

“I know,” Aelynthi replies. “It’s not news to me, Thenvunin. I’m the one who’s actually a mage. This isn’t particularly new.” Even if it  _was_  uncommonly terrifying.

His friend sighs.

“It shouldn’t-“

“But it does,” he counters, brusquely. “It does. So, can we just… move on, for now? I’m tired. I pulled an all-nighter and got punched in the head. It’s not a great combination.”

He opts not to mention the blow to his back. It’s hurting less now, anyway.

They get out of the car, and Thenvunin moves over and, to Aelynthi’s surprise, very gently pulls him into a hug. Big warm arms that are nearly the big, warm arms that Aelynthi really wants manage to settle around him without hitting any of his other injuries.

“I love you, bro,” Thenvunin says.

“Stop that,” Aelynthi mutters, and pokes him until he lets go.

A thought occurs to him.

“And don’t tell Victory. He’ll just freak out.”

Thenvunin blinks, and then shrugs.

“Too late,” he admits. “I knew you’d ask me not to say anything, so I did it before you asked. I texted him first.”

Aelynthi scowls.

“ _Fuck,”_  he mutters. “…What did he say?”

“He said I’m not allowed to kill the people responsible because that’s his job,” Thenvunin replies. “But I’ve made no promises.”

“..Idiots.”

They’re comforting idiots, though. He’ll give them that, as he steals Thenvunin’s phone to try and dissuade Victory from abandoning his post, and lets his friend ferry him into emergency where the doctors  _confirm_  that he is just badly bruised (thank you), but also… well, also there’s a healing spell, which helps a lot and is maybe, he can concede, worth the trip.

At least it helps him send a selfie to Victory of himself looking ‘perfectly fine’.

Shortly after he does, Thenvunin’s phone buzzes with a text from Uthvir.

_Found the phone, babe. Looks like it still works too._

Aelynthi sighs.

Small mercies, he supposes.

Now he just has to destroy the Templars.

Or maybe sleep first.

Yeah, he thinks he’ll sleep first.

 

~

 

Serahlin is  _furious_.

Her rage is quiet and cold, but it is as potent as the smoke that sometimes drifts off of Selene’s fingers. 

The Templar supporters have gone too far. They have overstepped their boundaries for the last time. 

She summons her sisters for an emergency meeting and they all agree that the assaults and harassment by the Templar supporters have gotten out of hand, and if the administration will do nothing about it, then they will.

She enlists Aelynthi and his people almost immediately and promptly begins to recruit the sororities, fraternities, and consanguinities she knows will side with her. She begrudgingly contacts Glory and informs them of what she is doing and soon the entire journalism department is with her as well. 

Adannar pulls in the rowing team, and Vena pulls in his lacrosse team - they all know Ana, and this is not going to stand. 

Angry botanists also contact her and ask to be a part of it, and Serahlin is all to happy to add them. Every person counts, and it is looking like every person in this school hates the templar supporters except for the Templar supporters.

The protest is scheduled to happen a week before the Wintersend Ball, right when campus is beginning to really get busy with preparations. And it is massive, they’re going to take up the entire central student square and even into parts of the surrounding area. Aelynthi has t-shirts made, and the art department constructs some very startling and amazing displays for the protesters to use. 

In all, she is very optimistic about this protest. It will be spectacular, a triumph for mage and elf rights alike. 

The Friday before the protest, Serahlin is walking through a regular shortcut from her debate class to her law seminar when all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Oh. She was wondering when this would happen.

She keeps walking, her back is straight, and she takes a mental inventory of what she’s wearing. Boots with only a minor heel for support, a small bracelet from Adannar on her wrist with a heart charm. She’s never really cared for the practice of having a knife on her at all times, but she will make do with her hands and feet if she has to. Just in case, she subtly moves her mace from her purse to her hand. 

The steps behind her get louder and she allows herself to relax. She consciously has the tension roll out of her shoulders, blanking her mind, allowing herself to breathe.

The foot steps stop for just a second and she steps to the side while ducking. Her would be attacker stumbles forward from their poor attempt at a punch. She continues to turn in time to grab the wrist of another assailant and promptly break it. The assailant screams and Serahlin hauls them forward, driving her knee into their gut, directly into the kidney. 

The first attacker recovers quickly, but she is already behind him when he goes for her again. She grabs the nape of his neck and slams his head into the wall. When he falls, he doesn’t get back up.

The third assailant charges her, only to get mace in his face. 

The fourth does not immediately attack her, however. Her tall, strong body moves slowly and deliberately as if stalking Serahlin before stopping before her.

“Good job, for a knife-eared bitch.” Meredith says. 

“Sloppy work for shems,” Serahlin lets her voice be as deep and Dalish as it is inclined to be. She isn’t taking this bullshit, and she can take Meredith down if she tries something.

“Why do you support them? The mages are a threat to you too.”

“Really? You go from insulting me and stabbing my friends to trying to convince me that  _mages_  are the problem here? Mages aren’t the ones stalking people at night. Mages aren’t the ones assaulting and stabbing people.”

“They made us do this. Every mage is a potential threat -

“Potential will never outweigh  _actual_  threats. The mages on this campus have done nothing, while _you_  have incited fear and terror all throughout the campus.” 

Meredith, to her credit, moves a lot faster than Serahlin had been expecting. But her fast was still Serahlin’s slow. She dropped to the ground and rolled away just as Meredith charged. There was an odd feel to the air and she suspected that Meredith had let out a magic neutralizing net just to be sure. Fool.

Serahlin kicks her feet out but Meredith dodges it and manages to kick Serahlin in the stomach. She hisses but rolls to her feet and feints back before lunging, jumping and twisting in the air so that she twists around Meredith, her legs coming around the woman’s head and neck. Serahlin thrusts her body weight back, slamming them both to the ground, but her legs remain firmly around Meredith’s neck, squeezing tightly. 

She screams when Meredith squirms enough to reach her leg, biting her through her leggings. Her legs tighten despite the pain and soon Meredith goes limp.

Serahlin holds it for another twenty seconds before releasing the hold and calling the police. She isn’t letting this bitch get away with this shit again. 

She dials the Orlesian Justice Department’s Office next, “Hello? Yes, this is Serahlin Mercier Elethari, may I please speak to Jeanelle Mercier? Yes, this is her daughter…Aneth’ara, Memae! I’m calling to talk to you about some Templar supporters…mhm, yes, Meredith is her name. Yes, I’ve called the police. Yes, thank you. Oh they’re coming now. Yes, I love you too, Memae. Dareth’shiral.” She hits the end call button and can’t help but smile as the blue and red flashing lights flood the street. 

Meredith is not going to get away with this.

 

~

 

The biggest problem in Harriet Cousland’s life is knowing Meredith Stannard. 

Just because they grew up in the same town and were next door neighbors and went to elementary school together, Harriet has had the unwelcome association with the pro-Templar girl. Even years later, when Harriet’s parents divorced and she moved to Denerim with her dad, her mother would call and say things like, “Yesterday, your friend Meredith…” or “You remember your good friend Meredith? Well I heard she got into X University…”

Because somehow sharing a pudding cup in kindergarten suddenly made them sworn sisters or something. Even though they’re about as opposite as a person can be, aside from both regrettably being blonde.

_Not anymore, Meredith, hair dye makes everything easier._

It’s hard sometimes, growing up in a place like Kirkwall. The city is toxic. It feeds off of the kind of propaganda that Meredith and her family and the Chantry preach. Harriet remembers being small and sitting in church and not thinking twice about what the Grand Cleric was saying.

When an authority figure tells you something when you’re little, especially someone from the Chantry, it’s a known fact. You don’t question it, even if it makes you sick to your stomach to listen to. She remembers pretending to be sick so she didn’t have to go to the children’s lessons, because Mother Petrice’s words felt wrong and she knew that she’d get in trouble if she said so.

She’d thought for the longest time that something was wrong with  _her_  for not liking it.

Moving to Denerim had saved her, she thinks. Going to a public school had helped, as had the fact that her father stopped making her go to church every week. She still said her prayers, still said a blessing at every meal, and it was easier that way. To believe in the Maker when he wasn’t being talked about through the lens of the Chantry clergy.

But some people never left Kirkwall. People like Meredith, that went to the Chantry’s private school her whole life, and whose parents were strict Andrastians and who was a sponge that soaked up all that hate and ignorance and fear until she was saturated with it and couldn’t hold anything else.

People like Meredith are dangerous, because they think they’re doing the Maker’s work. They think they’ve been ordained by some higher power to rid the world of evil things. 

And it’s scary, because some of them aren’t like Meredith. Some of them are quiet in their hate, hidden behind pretty words and educated responses and welcoming smiles.

People like Grand Cleric Elthina.

There are so many kinds, it’s exhausting. Sometimes Harriet wonders why she still prays to the Maker when she sees the product of his teachings all around her. But she likes to think that it’s the people that got it wrong. That whatever’s been written wasn’t written word for word, was taken and twisted to suit their needs, just like Grand Cleric Elthina and Meredith and the politicians on TV take and twist them.

It’s exhausting sometimes, but at least she can walk down the street and never worry about being beaten, or stabbed, or thrown in jail for something she didn’t do. No one’s going to stop her on the street and call her “knife-ear” or scream about all the filthy, violent things they want to do to her because they know no one will stop them, or threaten they’re going to find a way to make her tranquil.

That, she thinks, would be impossible for her to withstand. She doesn’t think she’d be strong enough for that. She’s lucky, she knows. Because she doesn’t have to be afraid.

—

She’s a third year at the University of Denerim when her adviser suggests she go on a conference that’s being held at the very same school she knows Meredith is attending. She doesn’t want to go. She  _really_  doesn’t want to go, not if anyone there ends up recognizing her and once again associating her with Meredith or the woman herself sees her and tries to act chummy.

But it will look really good on a resume…

She gives in. It’s a big campus, there’s very little chance that she’ll end up stumbling across her, right?

The Sports and Exercise Medicine conference lasts for three days. For two of those days, she successfully manages to avoid Meredith and any others that might potentially recognize her and report back to the woman. She and Patience and two of the professors listen to talks, and she presents a poster on progression models in resistance training for healthy human and elf adults that goes over better than she expected.

On the third day, fate is cruel.

They’re taking a break for lunch, and the weather is great, so she decides she’s going to take her food to go from the cafeteria and eat in the quad. The University of Denerim is smack in the middle of the city, so there isn’t as many open spaces and lawns. It’s nice to see a place with so many trees.

Patience sits down beside her and opens a bag of doritos.

“Wait, there were doritos? Where?” Harriet lunges for them.

Patience tuts and moves them out of grabbing distance, “I bought them from a vending machine. Go back to your turkey wrap and let me eat in peace.”

Harriet sighs and makes one last, half-hearted attempt at getting past her tall friend’s defenses before going back to her own meal. It isn’t bad, but now all she wants are some chips. She’s contemplating going to the vending machine and giving in when she hears Meredith’s name.

“Look at this!” It’s a group of girls sitting on a blanket on the lawn, bent over a laptop. “Did you read Aelynthi’s forum post? She tried to poison a  _puppy_. What a psycho!”

“Hey, we can’t take it all at face value. We don’t know if he’s lying or not. He’s a blood mage, right? So he could just be playing it up for sympathy.”

“No way! I heard he was attacked a few days ago. No one’s naming names, but I bet it was Meredith.”

Harriet stills, grip tightening on her water bottle.

Meredith tried to  _poison a dog._

Harriet’s got a dog. A leonberger/great dane mix dubbed Twinkle-Toes because he tiptoes across the wooden floor in the kitchen because he knows he’s not supposed to walk there. She thinks about her loveable, goofy giant and fumes. What the hell is  _wrong_  with Meredith? When did she jump straight into psychopath territory? I mean, Harriet had figured something was up pretty early on when Meredith refused to use the crayons one of the elf children had touched in second grade, but this…

She hadn’t expected Meredith to give her hate a physical outlet. She’d thought she’d internalize it and stew over it, like so many of the older people in the congregation. Lament about the state of things but never act on it. 

The group of girls goes quiet, and Harriet turns to see Meredith and two guys walking toward them.

Shit. This is not the person Harriet wants to see right now. Or ever.

“What are you ladies talking about?” One of the boys asks, crouching down. He takes one look at their screen and scoffs, “Why are you reading that shit?”

The girls flinch away. A few stand and mumble something about needing to go to class.

Meredith’s sporting a bruised nose that she probably refused to get healed with magic. One of the two grunts has a swollen jaw. It seems pretty obvious to Harriet that they’re the ones who attacked his Aelynthi guy.

“Hey, come on now,” The first crony shuts the girl’s laptop with his foot, and for a second Harriet wonders if he’s going to stomp on it. “I asked a question.”

There’s a very long pause, and the girl looks like she’s going to cry. Her friend pipes in, voice faint, “It is…did you really…?”

One of them laughs. “Do what? Beat that skinny runt? Of course we did.” She doesn’t know the guy, not that that’s anything new; she doesn’t know anyone here but Meredith—which is a shame. But he’s big and rough looking and exactly the kind of thuggish ignorant douchewaffle that Harriet figures make up Meredith’s hate harem.

“You should have seen him. Scared shitless, the little knife-eared bastard. Tried to use magic on us! Meredith’s going to the school board.  _Blood magic_ , the little shit.”

“Hehehe, at least you knocked him around a bit. Too bad you couldn’t have busted him up a bit more.” The other agrees.

“Ha, it’d almost be a shame. He’s got a pretty face for a knife-ear. Should’ve been born a girl. Then I could have had some real fun.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Meredith mutters.

Harriet finds herself standing, and that’s when Meredith turns and catches her eye and pauses. A slow smile spreads across her face. It isn’t a pleasant smile. “If it isn’t Harriet. What are you doing here?”

“Conference,” Harriet bites out. It’s not her thing, getting involved in other people’s business. But there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, and Meredith has crossed them all. Multiple times. And just because their families know one another doesn’t mean she’s going to let this continue.

“Who is this?” One of the two grunts asks, moving away from the group of girls and toward her. “She’s pretty cute.”

“This is my friend, Harriet Cousland,” Meredith offers up, “We went to school together. We’re neighbors.”

The group of girls that had been talking before look at her furtively. Like they’re afraid she’s going to say something to incriminate them.

Like she’s actually Meredith’s  _friend_.

Harriet lets out a breath and crosses her arms over her chest, “We need to talk, Meredith.”

Meredith raises an eyebrow, her smile never leaving her face. Smug. Like she knows exactly what she’s done. “Then let’s talk.”

“You want to have this conversation here?” Harriet asks, as she glances around. The quad was crowded already, what with it being so nice outside, but their conversation seems to be drawing even more of a crowd.

“I don’t see any reason not to.” Meredith scoffs, “I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. If you want to lecture me, go right on ahead. You always were a little preachy.”

Harriet’s frown deepens. “Look, what you’re doing is wrong. I can’t believe that you tried to kill a puppy—and assault? What were you thinking?” She thinks back to the little girl she used to skip rope with in the driveway and wonders where she went.

“I didn’t do anything to that dog,” Meredith snaps, “If the dog dies, we all know what the  _real_  cause is.”

Harriet knows Meredith well enough to know when she’s lying. Poisoning that dog and killing it so that she could claim it’s death was caused by some convoluted blood magic ritual to stir up unrest is just the kind of thing she’d do.

Harriet remembers the anti-mage rallies in Kirkwall. She remembers the riots, too. She remembers coming to stay with her mother for a summer and seeing Meredith and half of the local high-school football team smashing mage and elf-owned store windows with baseball bats.

She’d called the police, but they’d been too busy with the riots downtown. There hadn’t been enough manpower. She remembers spending the next three days cleaning glass off the streets while Meredith and her cronies mocked her and called out threats for “helping the apostates and knife-ears”.

It just hadn’t seemed right to leave all that glass around, where people could step on it. Especially when the Dalish and some of the city elves didn’t wear shoes. It was dangerous, and even if the police couldn’t come, she could at least make it easier to walk. It was all a scared fifteen-year-old girl could do. So she’d done it.

She’s not fifteen anymore. And she’s not scared. She’s an adult. Maybe she’s still young, and maybe she’s non-confrontational, but she’s got a responsibility here. 

“Listen Meredith. You need to get some help. And you need to stop. You’re going to piss off the wrong people and you’re going to regret it.”

Meredith’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure  _you_  aren’t the one pissing off the wrong people, Harriet?”

Harriet looks from her to the two cronies. They’ve moved closer, and one looks like he’s read to grab for her. She can hear Patience behind her, fumbling with his phone. He isn’t a fighter, and he’s a bit of a coward, so she really can’t blame him for not rushing up to watch her back. Plus, he’s got terrible asthma, she wouldn’t want him to have an attack in the middle of a brawl.

Right well. She takes one step back and grounds herself. Best to be ready. “You need to stop. Maker knows—”

“You don’t get to talk about the Maker,” Meredith mutters, “Not if you’re a  _mage_  lover.”

“Harry, I called campus security. They’ll be here soon,” Patience calls out.

Meredith’s eyes flicker to him, “Still picking up stray pets?” Her lips curl in disgust, “A nug would have been a better choice. You can litter train a nug.”

“Apologize.” Harriet snaps. “Right now.”

Meredith laughs, and the two cronies are quick to follow. She thinks some people in the gathering crowd do so as well, a little more slowly. “And what are you going to do about it? You’re going to stand up for some knife-ear?”

“I’m  _dating_  an elf, and I’d appreciate it if you’d be a bit more civil.” Harriet balls her hands into fists, and her body tenses. She knows what’s coming, but she wants to believe that maybe Meredith won’t go there. That maybe she’ll actually apologize. She’s always had faith that people can change for the better.

Meredith sneers. “I’d forgotten that you liked knife-ear co—”

She kicks her. Hard. All her years of kickboxing lead up to this moment, and she hears a crack. There is utter silence in the quad as everyone stares at Meredith coughing up blood and a few teeth on the cobblestones at Harriet’s feet.

“Harry…”  Patience croaks out.

First crony swings with a curse, and she ducks. He’s big, and dumb, and he threw his punch without thinking. It throws him off balance and she slams her knee into his stomach as he comes down before shoving him to the side and into his friend.

Second crony nearly falls over, but manages to right them both and they come charging. Templar military training is easy to spot, it’s main focus is in combating magic. That means that it’s about as effective as a typical pub brawler against someone who knows what they’re doing.

Meredith, she knows, had supplemented that with some kind of boxing.

Luckily for her, these two didn’t get that memo.

Her legs aren’t long enough to reach the grunt’s face without jumping, and she doesn’t have much faith she can land without twisting an ankle in her shoes. So she goes for his stomach, low and hard, and he lets out a wheeze as his breath is knocked out of him, and then as he’s doubled over, she slams her knee up into his chin.

He goes down like a ton of bricks.

The second one pauses, unsure, and this gives Harriet the chance to take a few steps back and regroup. She bounces on the balls of her feet and narrows her eyes, shaking her shoulders loose. She isn’t really dressed for this, not in a pair of wedge-heeled pumps and a skirt, but she isn’t going to complain; at least she’s wearing cute underwear today.

Meredith coughs. “You bitch,” She stumbles to her feet, blood dribbling down her chin.

“Don’t worry, baby teeth grow back,” Harriet shoots back, “Once you’ve grown up, you’ll have a whole set again.” It’s about as mean as she can get, truthfully. She’s never been very good at witty comebacks. She leaves that to her boyfriend.

Someone in the crowd snickers, but she has her eyes glued on Meredith and the other two, just in case someone tries to attack. A whistle blow echoes, and Meredith flinches, backing up a bit as two uniformed men come pushing through the crowd.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Meredith wheezes, a hand half pressed over her mouth. “Nothing happened.”

“Actually,” Patience steps forward, “Um, officer, I heard that there was an attack on campus a few days ago?”

The taller of the two security guards raises an eyebrow. “…yes. Do you have any information regarding the incident?”

Patience holds up his phone, and a video recording begins to play.

_“Do what? Beat that skinny runt? Of course we did.”_

_“You should have seen him. Scared shitless, the little knife-eared bastard. Tried to use magic on us! Meredith’s going to the school board._ Blood magic _, the little shit.”_

_“Hehehe, at least you knocked him around a bit. Too bad you couldn’t have busted him up a bit more.”_

_“Ha, it’d almost be a shame. He’s got a pretty face for a knife-ear. Should’ve been born a girl. Then I could have had some real fun.”_

There’s a long pause, as Meredith glares daggers at the other two.

“Well…that doesn’t explain the rest of this,” The officer gestures toward the collection of assorted bruises and Meredith’s bleeding nose and mouth.

“She came for the phone and tripped,” Harriet nods.

“…tripped?” He looks down at her shoe, and the bloodstain on the tip of it.

“Tripped.” Harriet confirms.

The taller of the two security guards raises an eyebrow at the unconscious man on the ground, and then back to her. “…and the other two?”

“They tripped too.” She replies seriously.

“You fucking little bitch, that isn’t what happened!” The grunt lunges, and the second guard throws him to the ground with relative ease and pins him there.

“I didn’t get all of it on camera,” Patience holds out his phone, “Sorry, I must have panicked and stopped recording.”

The grunt on the ground says something particularly vile as the officer proceeds to handcuff him.

“It’s true!” Someone pipes in that she doesn’t see, from the crowd. “It was a pretty nasty fall.” She thinks one of the girls from the picnic blanket says something else about uneven cobblestones on the pathway, but she’s just smiling at the police officer.

Meredith wheezes, a hand pressed over her mouth, Harriet looks back at her, and their eyes meet. It isn’t over, she knows. Likely even with the video evidence, Meredith will get out with a slap on the wrist. Especially since Meredith herself never admitted to anything.

The officer shrugs, “Well, that all seems to check out then.” He turns to his partner, “Let’s get these three to the station and call over the one who was assaulted, ask if he can recognize his attackers in light of this new evidence.”

“You’re fucking shitting me!” The one on the ground spits. “He was a blood mage. He’s dangerous! Why the hell shouldn’t we have—”

“SHUT UP!” Meredith shouts, but it comes out wonky with her broken nose and a ripple of laughter shoots through the gathered group of students.

“Are you two going to come with us quietly?” The first office asks, eyeing Meredith and her companion. “I have more handcuffs, just in case.”

“We’ll go,” Meredith hisses, “But no one is going to talk until my family’s lawyer gets here.” She shoots a look at the other two, who seem cowed enough not to say anything else as the shorter security guard slings her unconscious friend over his back in a fireman’s carry and they’re led away.

Harriet watches them go, as the crowd around them slowly disperses, pockets of whispering speculations. The group of girls smile at her before packing up their things and leaving. Harriet lifts her hands above her head and stretches with a sigh. “That wasn’t how I planned on spending my lunch break, but I think it was pretty productive, right Patience?”

Patience smiles, eyes dancing with mischief. “How did you know that no one was going to back Meredith up?”

“Meredith doesn’t have friends, just minions,” Harriet shrugs, “She’s never been the most likeable. I doubted anyone aside from the hard-liners were going to feel inclined to defend her. Besides, you had my back.” She points to his phone.

Patience snorts. “I have to go submit this as evidence now, thanks.” But he’s still smiling, “This isn’t the first time this has happened. I come prepared now.”

Harriet sighs, “Oh come on, it was one time.”

“ _Three_.”

Harriet pauses. “…three?”

“Three.” Patience confirms, slinging an arm around her shoulders, “Come on, we need to get back to the conference room…”

 

~

 

Selene is in the kitchen, stirring the two mugs of hot chocolate when her phone goes off. The screen says ‘Alaris’ and she answers it without really thinking.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Uh. So. We made it back safely!” Alaris stammers.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Selene responds, tapping the spoon against the rim of the glass to shake off the excess.

“Also, you know that I love you, right?”

Selene hums in affirmation, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder while she rinses off the spoon in her sink.

“Ok, great. Anyways, here’s your dad!”

 

Selene pauses then, back going stick straight as a deeper voice comes over the line

 

“Sulvuna?”

 

She debates turning off her phone, or pretending they’ve been disconnected, or just straight up saying 'nope wrong number’, but instead she steels herself.

“Hello, Elrogathe.”

 

There is silence from his side of the line then, as well. She wonders if this is as awkward for him as it is for her.

 

“What happened to Haleir?” he finally asks.

“He tripped and fell out of a window,” she replies casually.

“And you didn’t catch him?”

She almost snorts at the absurdity of the situation. 'no dad, I didn’t catch him because the whole reason he got thrown out was he got caught trying to rape me again by someone who actually gave a shit’.

 

“I did not.” is all that comes out though.

“You should have looked after him. You have a responsibility as a healer, Sulvuna. He is your patient, and future husband.”

“He’s neither, actually. And I’m not a healer anymore, I’m going to school and learning to do something else.”

 

Elrogathe lets out a sigh, and she can see his expression clearly in her mind despite the distance; disappointed as ever.

“You are wasting yourself there.”

“I’m actually doing very well, thanks for asking,” she rebuttals around the lump in her throat “I’ve got a scholarship, and they gave me a real job, and I’m very good with numbers-”

 

“That does not matter.”

 

Her free hand fists at her side, and she tries to quiet down the part of her mind that is saying he’s right,  _of course he’s right_ , this is just an escape and one day she is going to be dragged back and she will die old and alone in that Aravel as Sulvuna, far away from all of her friends.

 

She turns to pace around her apartment, and is greeted with the sight of a sheepish looking Dirthamen, holding up his key.

She mouths 'its fine’ to him, and points to his purple mug on the counter.

 

“Sulvuna,” her father continues “It is time to come back and finish your studies. Haleir is injured, and needs your attentions. It is your duty to attend him.”

“I never agreed to that.”

“You were around when he obtained his injuries, correct?”

 

Selene hesitates before answering “Yes.”

“You were aware they could have been life-threatening?”

 

She rubs her hand over her forehead, already knowing where this is headed, and desperately not wanting to have this conversation now, with Dirthamen in the room. Not much place else to go in a studio, though.

“Yes,” she concedes.

 

“And you still did not assist him. That is disappointing, Sulvuna. You know better. Haleir has gone out of his way to assist you in the past, this was neglectful on your part. I raised you better than that.”

“You barely raised me at all,” Selene slips, and she knows it is the wrong thing to say as she hears herself say it. She can see Dirthamens ears tipping up slightly while he pretends not to be listening.

 

There is silence from the other end of the line, and Selene shifts awkwardly on her feet, debating whether or not she should apologize.

“Your mother would be disappointed in the woman you have become. I was right to disown you. Do not bother returning.”

 

The call ends, and Selene stands frozen in her spot.

 

Dirthamen is still standing in the kitchen, and trying not to look at her.

 _The bright side is, you got what you wanted. You’ll never have to go back now,_ Des pipes in.

 _Shut up,_ she responds.

Selene takes a deep breath and forces on a smile as she joins Dirthamen in the kitchen.

“Sorry about that. I had an unexpected phone call.”

He nods politely “It is no trouble. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just. Clan stuff. It’s fine.”

Dirthamen nods again, and hands her the other mug, which she takes thankfully.

“Is it because of Haleir?” he questions, and she can hear the slight strain in his voice when he says the name.

She just shrugs though. It’s not Dirthamen’s fault, and she has no interest in it seeming as though it could be. Especially not after what he did for her. “Not really. It was a lot of things that had built up over time reaching a boiling point, that’s all.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue either. Yet another thing she is grateful to him for.

 

They settle down on the floor with notes on some of the past blights spread out before them. The cups of cocoa go cold before long, and when she leans over to better see a page Dirthamen is pointing to, her hand brushes over his own. They both hesitate then, for a moment. She likes the contact though. It is comfortable, and grounding, and she slowly curls her fingers through his own.

He doesn’t pull back, and after a moment he gives her a reassuring squeeze. There is no further expectation to the gesture, and she gives him a genuine smile before turning back to their work.

She realizes they must have fallen asleep when her alarm goes off in the morning. She is leaning against his shoulder, and their hands are still linked. Something in her eases at the sight.

She will have to speak to him about this, she thinks.

Eventually.

 

~

 

Selene is awoken in the morning by a series of knocks on her door.

One eye peeks open as she switches on her phone to check the time. A series of swears leaves her mouth when she sees it: 6:30am.

She may actually kill whoever is on the other side of that door.

 

She kicks off her comforter and grumbles her way to the door in Dirthamens shirt and her comfy shorts. Selene swings open the door with an angry “Do you even know what time it-”

She pauses at the intricate deep blue Vallaslin on the face in front of her. A few inches shorter than she is, with long dark hair that is starting to gray in its braid, and pale skin.

Selene takes a moment to make sure she’s actually awake.

When the environment doesn’t shift at all, she can feel something heavy settle in the pit of her stomach.

 

Her father is here.

 

He nods in place of a greeting, and remains in her doorway with his hands resting behind him.

“What-How. Why are you-” she stumbles, still trying to wake up “Elrogathe?”

“Sulvuna,” he greets, eyes darting to look into her apartment behind her before going back to her face.

She sighs.

“Would you…like to come in?”

He nods once more and steps inside. Selene closes the door and bangs her head lightly against it.

Great. Fantastic start to the day, she thinks.

 

She turns around, and sees him frowning his way around her one room.

 

“Small,” he comments as he rubs his thumb tenderly over her plants.

“The soil here isn’t as good. They’re healthy, though. Not as strong as when they were under Mamaes care, obviously, but. There’s no discoloration, or root rot, or anything.”

 

Elrogathe doesn’t respond, just keeps drifting around her apartment. Selene snags a pair of jeans, a clean shirt, and a bra out of their drawer and runs off to the bathroom to change, making sure to swap the socks and sneakers for her foot wraps.

 

When she comes out, Elrogathe is digging through her refrigerator, and scowling at most of it’s contents. Selene reaches past him for a pitcher of Ana’s fruit-tea blend and pours each of them a glass, then leans against the counter while he sniffs at it skeptically.

 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with the clan? Or literally anywhere else? I thought you were finished dealing with me.”

He shrugs and takes a cautious sip of his drink, before his eyebrows raise and he takes a real swig.

“Alaris,” he answers.

Selene sighs. Of course. Her well-meaning cousin is meddling again.

“You don’t have to listen to him you know. He’s not actually keeper yet, and he’s your nephew besides.”

“Soon.”

“Is Deshanna sick?”

He shakes his head “Old.”

“Oh. Right.” she washes and rinses out the both of their cups while Elrogathe continues his impromptu inspection of her studio.

 

She finds him making faces while he thumbs through her history notes.

“Wrong.” he states without looking up.

It is too early to have a fight about what gets written in history textbooks versus the history they learn in the clans, she thinks. “Do you want to go get some breakfast? I have classes in a few hours, and work after.”

“No.”

Her lips thin.

“Ok…what would you like to do then? I didn’t exactly plan an itinerary.”

He looks out the window, then back to her with a slight twitch of his eyebrow.

“You want a tour?” she asks.

He nods.

Right. Of course he does.

She should have stayed in bed.

–

She walks Elrogathe around the campus, pointing out the buildings and their various uses. He insists on seeing the greenhouse when they pass it.

Selene apologizes profusely to the students who were tending their plots when her father starts taking clippings of their plants.

 

“You can’t just  _take_  things. This isn’t a clan. Those aren’t communal plants.” she explains after they leave, shoving a water bottle from a vending machine into his chest.

He just tucks them into his pocket and takes the water from her.

Selene groans and explains to him that she has to go to class now.

He nods.

She hopes that means he is going to go home now.

–

It does not mean he is going home.

Instead he acts like her shadow, and follows along to her classes. He is silent throughout calculus, but when she has to go to History of Circles he is anything but.

She’s fairly certain she has never heard him speak  _more_ , in fact.

Professor Irving tries several times to get him to stop interrupting by inviting him for a discussion after class is over.

It doesn’t work.

When Elrogathe interrupts a lecture on the architecture of the Orlesian circle by pointing out the elvhen influence in design, and the labor used to construct it, he gets thrown out into the hallway.

He did have a  _point_  though, she supposes.

 

She gets a very pointed look from her professor at the end of class. He requests that further guests she brings give proper respect to the classroom setting. She agrees, and gives him a sheepish grin before heading out.

Elrogathe is glancing over some of the bulletin boards and display cases in the hallway.

“Evanuris?” he asks, pointing to a plaque with some inspirational quote from Elgar'nan embedded on it.

“Yeah. They own the school.”

Elrogathe scowls and spits on the ground, then turns to Selene.

“Why?”

She blinks.

“I don’t know? They didn’t already own a school, so they decided to open one, maybe? I never really-”

“No.” he interrupts, then points to her. “Why?”

 

Oh.

“I came here because it..”  _was far away from the clan while still tolerating elvhen mages_ , she thinks. “…is a prestigious school. They offer what I was looking for, and they treat me well.”

He mulls her answer over a moment while Selene checks her phone.

 

←  _Antivan tonight?_

From Dirthamen.

 

That’s…probably not a great idea, she thinks.

 

→  _Sorry, have to cancel. Something came up. Study tomorrow instead?_

 

Her eyes dart to the time on her phone screen, and she mentally curses.

“I have to go to work.”

Elrogathe nods.

And follows.

Great.

–

“So that’s your dad, huh?” Melanadahl asks, leaning over the counter.

Selene sighs and pushes down on the stapler with more force than is actually necessary.

“Yep.”

 

Elrogathe disappears into one of the aisles, and Selene lets out a sigh of relief.

 

“That’s gotta suck. Didn’t you come here to get away from him?”

“Yep.”

“He’s like, crazy Dalish right? Super traditional, never leaves the reservation?”

“Yep.”

“Does he know you’re dating Dirthamen Evanuris?”

“Nope.”

She freezes, the turns and glares at Melanadahl “We’re not dating.”

He rolls his eyes “Whatever. You could be, if either of you could learn how to hold a real conversation.”

“Says the guy who barely learns peoples names before taking them into bed.”

“Hey, so long as I can say it when one of us leaves in the morning, it’s not rude.”

Selene just rolls her eyes.

 

There is a sudden burst of light, followed by the crackle of thunder from the aisle her father was in.

She groans, and rubs at the bridge of her nose.

Melanadahl blinks, slowly taking the stapler away from her.

“You handle that. I’m working.”

“Yep.” she says with a sigh as she steps around the counter.

 

Her father looks  _livid._

 

There is a scorch mark on the carpet, in front of a very terrified looking human with a Templar symbol on his shirt.

 

“We need to go now.” Selene advises, as she takes her fathers arm and leads him out of the library.

She gives Melanadahl a nod, and he mockingly salutes after her as they leave.

He still owed her a favor, she supposes.

 

She drags her father outside to one of the benches and seats him down, standing with her arms crossed.

“What happened?”

“ _Shemlen._ ”he growls.

“Oh, so you just blow up humans on sight now?” Selene snaps back at him. “This isn’t a reservation site, they can have you  _arrested_  for attacking someone like that!”

Elrogathe  _tsks._

“You can’t just show up unannounced and complain about everything! If you’re unhappy,  _leave._ Why are you even  _here_?”

“…Alaris.” he answers, quietly.

“You have fulfilled Alaris’s quota. You showed up, and said more than 6 words. You can leave now. Tell him we’re closer than ever, it’ll barely even be a lie!” she yells.

 

“Selene?”

 

Her eyes close, and she lets out a breath.

Of course he came to check on her at work when she canceled.

Of course he showed up  _now._

Of course her father recognizes him.

Doesn’t know basic manners here, but recognizes an Evanuris from several feet away.

Selene mentally curses her luck.

 

Elrogathe stands, eyes narrowed and takes a step towards Dirthamen. His fingers are sparking with bits of electricity.

Selene steps between them in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

 

“ _Evanuris.”_  he sneers.

“Dirthamen, you need to leave.” Selene says as calmly as she can.

Elrogathes head snaps to Selene then. “You  _know_  him?”

“Oh, you  _are_  capable of forming a full sentence when addressing me.” She grumbles. “He’s a friend. Just-”

“He is a  _monster. <The lot of them are, his whole tainted family tree.>” _Elrogathe argues, slipping into elvhen.

 

“He knows what you’re saying,” Selene sighs. “And he’s not a monster, you don’t even know him.”

“He threw Haleir out of a window!”

“Do you even know  _why_?” Dirthamen retorts.

 

“Haleir-Haleir tripped and  _fell_  out of the window,” she tries to cover “Whatever he told you-”

“He told me you would lie, and try to cover for this monster because he is paying you for sexual favors.”

“He said  _ **what.**_ ” Selene and Dirthamen say in unison.

 

Elrogathe steps forward “I was hoping he was lying,”  his bolts strike off of Dirthamens barrier, one with each advancement he makes “I had hoped you had done something more with your life than becoming a whore, but it seems you are friendly with the monster after all-”

 

Selene flings a fireball at Elrogathes feet, stopping him in his tracks.

“If you call him a monster again, I promise my aim will improve.”

 

Elrogathe freezes and looks at the smoldering grass in front of his feet. His arms fall back down to his side.

“Sulvuna?”

She sighs, relaxing her own arms back down.

“I’m sorry. You have no right to come here and disapprove of my choices, though. I tried your way. I tried it for almost two decades. I am not you. I’m not Mamae. If that means you’re done with me, fine. Just be honest about it, because this whole ‘only your daughter when its convenient’ thing? I can’t do it.”

Elrogathe glances between Selene and Dirthamen, and crosses his arms.

“I disapprove.”

“I don’t actually care,” Selene shrugs, surprised at the honesty that comes with the statement.

“Haleir.”

“Will survive, I assure you.”

“Perhaps,” she hears Dirthamen mutter behind her.

There is silence then, the tension palpable in the air.

“Will you eat with me, before I leave?” Elrogathe asks.

Selene hesitates, but nods.

Elrogathe looks at Dirthamen.

“And you?”

Selenes eyebrows shoot up, and when Dirthamen looks to her for assistance, all she has to offer is her own confusion.

“If you would like,” he allows.

Elrogathe seems to be satisfied with that answer, and the two of them turn to Selene.

She still thinks she should have just stayed in bed today.

 


	12. Hugs

When Adannar is six, his mamae takes him to school just like any other day. She packs his lunch, kisses his forehead, and tells him to be good. He waits in the gymnasium for class start, and recites little poems from the book of poetry his papa got him for his birthday. The other kids like the poems too, they’re mostly silly things about being a kid, and some of them even have neat little illustrations. 

Around 8:00 AM, Mrs. Bandshire takes everyone to their classes. Adannar takes his seat in Mr. Winter’s class and shows him the picture of the baby growing in his mamae’s belly.

“Look!” He says excitedly.

“I’m going to be a big brother!” Which is the  _best thing ever!_  Really! A real baby! That he can teach where the nicest flowers grow, how to recite poetry right, how to skip along the rocks by the dock without cutting up your feet, and that you can totally wear ‘girl’ leggings instead of jeans if you make your eyes wide enough for mamae. 

He can’t wait. 

Mr. Winter smiles and gushes with him briefly before sending Adannar to sit down. 

At 11:30, they go to lunch. He takes out the ham sandwich Mamae prepared, and searches for the note she always packs. 

Aha! He pulls it out enthusiastically, smiling in anticipation.

_My little Adannar,_

_Take care,_

_And eat well!_

_So you can be big and strong!_

_And remember to smile!_

_And to enjoy_

_This little meal I have prepared._

_I love you my little, Addy._

_< 3 <3 XOXO Mamae_

His mamae is always writing such sappy things! But he blushes and smiles at it. His mamae loves him, and he knows it. 

Osin forgot his lunch that day, so Adannar gives him half of his sandwich and the side pickle that he doesn’t like anyways. He tells Osin that he needs to remember better so he can grow big and strong, like Adannar!

Lunch ends with Mrs. Bandshire clapping her hands and motioning for the children to head back to their classrooms. 

School ends three hours later with a loud bang of the bell and the rush of children out to the gymnasium to be picked up. Adannar’s papa usually picks him up fifteen minutes after the loud bell, sometimes it’s a little later because of traffic, but he’s always there! And sometimes he has a Kit Kat to share with Adannar, telling him not to tell his mamae because this will ruin his dinner. Adannar always promises that it won’t ruin his dinner. 

Fifteen minutes passes.

Then twenty.

Thirty.

Adannar shifts in his seat and looks over at Mrs. Bandshire who is still busy trying to watch the five-year-olds. She’s busy, he shouldn’t bother her, he knows. Mamae gets frustrated when she gets bothered when she’s doing something. 

Forty minutes pass. 

Fifty.

There are only a handful of children left, and now Mrs. Bandshire comes over. She looks down at him and places her hands on her hips and a big goofy smile on her face. Adannar giggles because Mrs. Bandshire has a really nice smile and always makes a funny face at him.

“Now what are  _you_  doing here? Your papa hasn’t come yet?”

“No. Traffic must be really bad. Or maybe he’s getting me a present! Or a present for the baby! Or Mamae! You think he’d do that?” 

“Well, your papa is very nice, so I wouldn’t put it past him.” She ruffles his hair and goes to check on the other kids who are still there. 

Sixty minutes pass.

Red and blue flashing lights suddenly make their way down the pick up line. The car stops, and a man in a uniform hops out of the car. The lights switch off and he slowly makes his way inside. 

Mrs. Bandshire goes to him immediately and they do that thing that adults do when they don’t want the children to hear. They whisper and use big words and then look nervously at Adannar. Mrs. Bandshire raises a hand up to her face and he thinks she begins to cry. 

No! Mrs. Bandshire shouldn’t cry! She’s nice and she shouldn’t be upset. Adannar picks himself up from his chair and quickly makes his way over to her, throwing his arms around her in a tight hug.

Papa says hugs make people feel better. 

She jolts and then looks at him. Her eyes are bright and she’s trying to smile. He hugs her tighter. 

“And who is this?” The man asks.

“This is him.” She answers in a voice that reminds Adannar of that time when mamae cut herself and cried because it hurt. Is Mrs. Bandshire crying? He buries his face into her skirts and hopes that his hug is working real good today.

“Hi,” the man says, tapping Adannar on the shoulder. “Whatcha doin’, bud?” He asks. 

“I’m hugging Mrs. Bandshire so she feels better.” He says, voice muffled by her skirt. 

“That’s really nice of you. My name is Officer Avis, what’s your name?”

“Adannar Paenir. I’m six years old.” He shifts his head to peak at Officer Avis, who seems nice enough. His ears are small, and his nose is big, and he has the bushiest beard. At least, that’s what Adannar thinks that’s the face hair is called. He wonders if it’s soft. 

“Well, Adannar Paenir, do you want to ride in a cop car? It’ll be lots of fun!” He asks but Adannar shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I have to wait for my papa.”

“How about this, you ride in the cop car and I take you to your parents? Is that okay?” He sticks his hand out for Adannar. He…wants to ride in the cop car, with the flashing lights and the radio, it does look like a lot of fun. But Officer Avis is a stranger and his parents say that he shouldn’t go with strangers. 

“Can I see your badge?” If he’s an officer, he should be safe, right? That’s what Papa always says, and he works at the police station so it should be okay.

Officer Avis pulls out a really shiny badge for Adannar to look at. It…is very official looking, he thinks. 

“Okay…but you have to promise to take me to my parents!”

Officer Avis gives Adannar one of those grown-up smiles that don’t quite reach his eyes, “I promise.”

When Adannar leaves, Mrs. Bandshire starts crying again.

Officer Avis sets Adannar up in the front seat, which Mamae says is unsafe, but Officer Avis has safety stuff, so it should be okay. He shows Adannar all of the cool things, and even lets Adannar run the lights for a while as he drives down the roads. Adannar tells Officer Avis about how he’s going to be a big brother and about all the things he wants to teach his little sibling.

The car stops at a big white building that Adannar doesn’t recognize. He moves his head and sees a great big sign that says “OUR LADY’S MERCY HOSPITAL” and he wonders what his parents are doing at a hospital. 

“Is everything okay?” Hospitals are for sick people, or for when people cut their fingers too deep, like Mamae had done last feast day. 

Officer Avis takes a deep  breath and turns to Adannar.

“I’m going to ask you a favor, Adannar, is that okay?” 

“Okay.” This doesn’t make any sense and he’s getting worried. Has Mamae cut her finger again? Has something happened to the baby?

“Can you promise to be a big boy, okay? You need to be a big boy today.”

Adannar doesn’t understand, but he nods his head, “Okay. I’m going to be a big brother, I should practice.” 

Officer Avis nods his head and gets out of the car. He helps Adannar and holds his hand as they enter the hospital. They walk past the place where they had waited last feast day when Mamae had cut herself. He passes what he remembers everyone calling the Nurse’s Station. They take an elevator up, take a left to a place that people keep calling the…ice cube? 

He wonders if someone accidentally froze his parents. Mamae works with mages, she’s a tutor, maybe someone accidentally used too much power?

The doctors are very tall and dressed in funny outfits. They look like his coloring paper, the ones that papa likes to make little cranes out of.

Officer Avis takes him down a corridor and Adannar lights up.

“AUNTIE!” It’s his Auntie Alina! And his uncle! He runs over to them, backpack bouncing on his back as they turn to him. They’re frowning and Auntie’s face is red and wet, like when Mamae had cut her finger. 

She drops to her knees, “Oh Adannar.” She holds out her arms and hugs him tight to her. 

“What’s wrong?” He finally asks, scared that all of the grown ups are upset. Why are they upset? Do they need to be hugged? Do grown-ups just get sad?

But no, it’s not that. 

His aunt takes him into a room nearby with his papa lying in it. There are…things in him, and there is beeping, and so many doctors looking down at him and at his aunt. He doesn’t understand. The words are so big, and when he touches his papa’s hand, nothing happens. He shakes his hand. Nothing happens.

“Papa?” He asks. Nothing.

“Papa? PAPA!” But no matter how much he shouted, nothing happened.  _Why won’t he wake up?_

He jumps up onto the bed and they pull him off. He flails, trying to break free because something is  _wrong_. His papa needs him! Needs a hug or, or a kiss, or one of those magic potions in the stories! 

But they move him off and Auntie is pulling him into the hallway. Officer Avis tells him to remember to be a big boy, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. He doesn’t want to be a big boy, he wants his papa.

But someone wipes his face and pets his head and take him into a new room. It’s…his mamae. There are even more things in her, with a big bandage around her head and she is…bloody. But her eyes blink open and she looks at him and smiles.

“Addy…my baby,” and she holds her hand out to him. 

_Mamae._

He runs to her and takes her hand, wanting to jump into her bed and hide in her chest like he does sometimes after a nightmare. 

“Mamae! Papa, Papa,” and he cries again because he isn’t a big boy and he wants to be a big brother but he also wants his papa and his papa isn’t waking up. Doesn’t anybody realize that? His papa wasn’t waking up! 

He doesn’t understand and their words are too big. And this hospital is too white. 

Mamae reaches up and touches his face.

“Oh my baby, my beautiful Adannar.” She whispers. His nose is running and he knows that she likes him to blow his nose when it gets like this, but there isn’t a tissue and he can’t leave her, if he leaves her, she may go to sleep and not wake up like Papa. 

“I…I…”

“I know, sweetie, I know. It hurts, so bad, but you can’t let it hurt forever, okay? Promise me, baby, that you won’t let it hurt forever. Promise me to learn to be happy.” Her fingers aren’t soft like normal and her words don’t make any sense, but he nods his head.

“Okay, Mamae, I promise. I can be happy. But Papa…I don’t think I can be happy now.”

“And that’s okay, let it hurt, just not forever, okay?” 

“Okay.” He walks up closer to the bed and reaches up at her, wrapping his small body around the arm extended to him. He holds her tight and squinches his eyes shut, willing his hug to work, to make her better. 

They didn’t let him hug Papa, but he can hug Mamae, and he can make her better. 

She gasps and the beeping in the room starts to go really fast. Doctors rush in and they pull him from her. He screams and flails, trying to get closer because he wasn’t done! HE WASN’T DONE!

His uncle wraps his big arms around Adannar who is so small, but he can help, he knows he can help. He’s carried out of the room.

Hours later they explain to him that his mamae and papa aren’t coming back. 

He asks about the baby. He’s supposed to be a big brother. And they hug him, trying to make him better, but he can’t feel better. Their hugs aren’t his papa’s or his mamae’s, they’re not the hugs that he  _needs_. 

His auntie and uncle hug him, holding him tightly and it…is not what he wants, but it’s closer. Auntie’s hair feels like papa’s and uncle’s hands are soft like mamae’s. 

He wonders what his little sibling’s hugs would have been like. If their arms would be big or small, if they’d hug tightly or warmly. Even fifteen years later, at twenty-one, he wonders what it would have been like to be a big brother, to have known the little sibling growing inside his mamae. 

It’s The Day, the one day that he lets himself hurt, the one day when he can’t keep his promise to be happy. He pulls out the box of things that reminds him of them: the book of poetry, a leather bracelet he got for Wintersend, and the little note he had read that day.

_My little Adannar,_

_Take care,_

_And eat well!_

_So you can be big and strong!_

_And remember to smile!_

_And to enjoy_

_This little meal I have prepared._

_I love you my little, Addy._

_< 3 <3 XOXO Mamae_

 

_~_

 

He doesn’t want to be around the guys at the frat at the moment. They’re kinda loud and they’re happy, as they should be. Uthvir’s over, curled up in a chair that Adannar is pretty convinced they’ve essentially claimed as theirs, catching up on their econ reading while Thenvunin chills with his birds. Aelynthi is in his little artist zone, listening to some weird music and sketching out future pieces he wants to work on while Victory hangs back and watches him.

Vena is…singing. Loudly. 

All in all, it’s not exactly the environment he wants to be when quietly mourning the long passed deaths of his parents and potential sibling. And yes, he counts it. That baby was  _supposed_  to be born, it counts. 

So Adannar hooks a leash into Flower’s collar and says he’s going for a walk. Flower whines at him and bumps her head against his calf. Little girl knows, he thinks, he read somewhere that dogs are sensitive about this kind of thing. 

He looks down at her as he leaves the house and wonders if the Maker recycles souls. Maybe Flower is the little sibling he was always meant to have. The thought is…not nearly as comforting as he wants. Flower is a dog, their lives are shorter.

He picks her up then, hugging her gently to his chest, burying his nose in her fur. He doesn’t even care that she needs a bath. She’s his puppy, his littlest sis, and he needs to know she’s there.

Flower wiggles and licks his face as he continues the walk.

He eventually puts her back down when they hit the small trails located behind the campus Chantry. Winter still has a grip on the region, giving the air a crisp feel, combining with the scents of pine and damp earth. It’s a good scent. Mamae and Papa liked to take him hiking when they could afford it, which turned out to be about once a summer. His aunt and uncle are more city-folk though, and they weren’t too partial to it.

But this…this is good, he thinks. Mood matching and appropriate. 

The walk turns into a bit of a longer jaunt than he had originally anticipated, and soon little Flower is whining to have a break. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says softly, hoisting her back into his arms. He kisses her head, assuring her that he’s got her.

He’s got her.

A twig breaks by him and he turns around to see a shock of red hair and an elf covered in freckles, green eyes wide.

“Ana? What are you doing out here?” He knows he doesn’t sound like himself, more like…he doesn’t know, just not himself.

“I’m collecting samples for my class. What are  _you_  doing here?” She counters playfully, trying on a smile. He can’t smile back, not today.

“Taking Flower for a walk, but she got tired so…now I’m holding her.”

Ana walks over and pets Flower’s head affectionately. Flower wags her tail against Adannar’s rib cage and licks Ana’s hand, eliciting a giggle from the elf. 

“Hey, Flower.” She pets the puppy for a minute before looking up at Adannar, and he knows that she knows that he’s…not himself.

“Are you alright?” She asks softly. 

He pauses. The words of his childhood therapist echo in his head, preaching honesty about feelings and openness and how that can help. And Ana is nice, she…she may understand. She wouldn’t be weird supportive like Thenvunin or Aelynthi, or look just a bit uncomfortable like Vena or Tasallir. 

He shakes his head, “No.”

“Oh, do…you want to talk about it?” She offers and he takes a deep breath.

“Fifteen years ago today my parents died in a car accident, along with my unborn sibling. And every year, on this day, I…disappear. I can’t be happy. Not like how my mamae wanted me to and I…it hurts.” His voice is low, soft, and he can’t really look her in the eye.

She inhales sharply and lets out a wavering breath.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She pauses for a moment then takes a deep breath of her own, “I-I understand. My…parents were, um, they…they were killed when I was little. They said it was an accident but it was a hate crime.”

Adannar’s eyes widen at her while she fidgets with the ties on her coat. She isn’t looking at him but he gets that. A hate crime. Maker, that’s…worse than a car accident, in a way. But the result is the same. 

Essentially orphaned, raised by people who never signed on for a kid.

“My uncle took me in, and he…he…” her lip trembles and Adannar’s chest aches. He sets Flower down and wraps Ana in a tight hug as she begins to cry. Tears of his own spring from his eyes and he buries his face in her hair. 

It’s soft, just like Mamae’s.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, locked into an tear-filled embrace, leaning on each other to just…cry about the injustice of it all. Those people who killed her parents. The baby that never got to live. 

The children left with the scars of the aftermath. 

But they hold each other tight, hugging and crying until all the bad seems just a bit farther away. 

 

~

 

Adannar pulls out his phone, giggling, and texts Selene.

A: hey, sel, how do you say I love you in elven?

S: ‘Ar lath ma’ why?

A: wanna surprise Serahlin with it.

A: could you send me an audio file of you saying it so I get it right?

S: ….

File247i3.i received

He giggles maniacally and trots down the hall to Dirthamen’s room.

“Hey, bro! Listen!”

He taps the file open and Selene begins to speak.

“Gotcha.” Then the file shuts off. His face falls and Dirthamen looks perplexed. Adannar’s phone buzzes and he checks it.

S: you’ll have to do better than that

He grins and begins to plot. Maker, he loves feast day pranks.

 

~

 

Uthvir swings by the House for their usual ‘see if Thenvunin wants to have sex’ visit, only to find their boyfriend busily cleaning out the finch cage. The finches are, themselves, in a small cage he must have gotten from somewhere, resting on top of his desk. They’re a little surprised to see Flower in the room.

“She wouldn’t stop crying when she saw the cage was empty,” Thenvunin explains, glancing at Flower a little uncertainly. Wavering. But Flower is only sitting by the desk, with her head on her paws; tail occasionally flopping as she watches Pepper and Tummy groom each other.

“Can you do me a favour, sig? I’ve got some notes on the desk. Top two books. Serahlin wanted to borrow some of them, she said she’d stop by before she left but I think she might have forgot. Could you just run out and see if she’s still in the main room, and take them to her?” he asks.

Uthvir shrugs.

“Sure, babe,” they agree easily enough, and step over Flower to scoop up the notebooks from the desk. One of them’s floppy and skinny enough that they don’t realize they’ve actually picked up three and not two until they’re in the hall, and it slides out and they have to fumble to catch it. 

They frown at the notebooks. The skinny one is grey, there’s a pink one, and a purple one. The skinny one was in the middle, so it’s probably among the ‘top two’. Which was on top of it on the desk, though, the purple or the black? They pause and flip open the purple one.

‘ _Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful and handsome and very masculine prince…’_

Uthvir’s eyebrows tick up.

They check the black book, and are greeted with  _Child Advocacy_  as the header. Probably  _that’s_  the one Serahlin wants; although both are in Thenvunin’s neat, flowery scrawl. They tuck the purple notebook under their arm, and find Serahlin locked in a very in-depth conversation with Tasallir about… the tragic upswing in mustard-yellow fabrics masquerading as ‘gold’, by the sounds of it.

“Hey, Serahlin,” Uthvir greets, breaking up the party. “Thenvunin said you wanted to borrow some of his notes?”

“Oh, Uthvir! Thank you! I didn’t realize you were here,” Serahlin greets, and readily accepts the offered books.

“I just arrived,’ they admit.

“Please tell Thenvunin I’ll have his notes back to him by tomorrow. Or I can just text him about it, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make you the go-between,” Serahlin says, folding the books into her arms.

“Not a problem,” they assure her. Tasallir is staring at their boots again. He keeps doing that. They shrug it off, and are halfway back down the hall to Thenvunin’s room before he comes racing out, and sees them and  _pales._

Uthvir stops, and glances behind themselves. Just in case an axe murderer has suddenly appeared; because Thenvunin definitely  _looks_  like one has.

They look back as he hurries over, and hastily takes the purple notebook out from under their arm. Clutching it to his chest.

“You didn’t open this, did you?” he asks. “I said to take the top two, not all of them!”

Uthvir blinks.

“I know. I accidentally grabbed three by mistake,” they reply, carefully. “I read the first sentence, trying to figure out which was the book for Serahlin. You write stories?”

Thenvunin swallows, and then flips open the cover and re-reads the first sentence, Uthvir suspects. His cheeks pink a little; but some of the unease in him goes down, too.

Huh.

They grin, just a little, and move a step closer, as Thenvunin shuts the notebook and moves it conspicuously out of grabbing-range for them. He takes a step back, and they take another step closer. Putting a little prowl into their step.

“Thenvunin. Do you write  _erotic_  stories?” they wonder.

His eyes widen.

“No!” he blurts. “I mean - no, of course not, signif, I don’t even write, not really, it’s just like - I mean, sometimes, but it’s not like I really - they, they’re just notes, and things, and you shouldn’t have even looked, and what even - why would you even think that ‘once upon a time’ was some kind of an intro to - you know, sig, the problem here is that you just, you have to turn everything into sex, is the - the -”

He swallows, as Uthvir backs him towards the wall. They curl a hand over his hip, and Thenvunin shoves his notebook under one of his arms and swallows, cheeks  _flaming._

“Handsome prince,” they purr, and his eyes widen. Oh, this could be  _fun._  “I have you trapped, now. Right where I want you. I wonder, whatever shall I do with you?”

Thenvunin makes a strangled noise, before he clears his throat, and bats their hand from his hip.

“What are you doing?!” he asks. He moves away, and Uthvir lets him go. Leaning their shoulder against the wall, and watching as Thenvunin tries to covertly straighten his shorts.

“Playing,” they say. “I like a good story. Who doesn’t? You can be the handsome prince and I can be the… I don’t know. Smitten would-be assassin, or court advisor, or maybe some stray pirate or bandit or wicked rebel mage who has waylaid your caravan, hmm?” 

Thenvunin’s eyes get wider.

“You said you just read the first sentence!” he protests.

Their grin widens.

“I did,” they confirm. “Why? Is that what’s in there? Prince Thenvunin falling into the arms of his inadvisable apostate lover?” They step towards him again, and this time end up backing him more or less towards his bedroom door.

“Prince  _Thenerassan,”_  Thenvunin corrects, and then backtracks. “Not that anything like what you said is in my story! It’s a historical drama. Um. Like, fantasy historical. And stuff. It’s not  _me._ Why would it be me? I’m not a prince. Obviously.”

“You’re  _my_  prince,” Uthvir tells him, and almost brings themselves up short with that one.

Thenvunin halts.

He blinks rapidly a few times, and swallows.

Uthvir recovers first, and carries on with herding him back into his bedroom.

“My prince,” they repeat, purring, and watch with delight as their boyfriend goes tongue-tied. They press closer, backing him into the room and slipping their arms around him and snaking a hand beneath the band of his pants to cup his ass.

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” an unexpected voice declares from the floor.

Uthvir blinks, and glances over, as Thenvunin makes a strangled noise and immediately sets about getting their hand out of his pants. Adannar is sitting on the floor of his room, with Flower, holding a small bag of finch treats. He’s also beaming at them.

“Are you guys roleplaying? Do you think Serahlin would like doing that?” he wonders, tilting his head and gently dissuading Flower from sampling the finch treats. “No, sis, those’re for the birdies,” he whispers to her.

“Bro, get  _out!”_  Thenvunin snaps.

“Oh. Right. Privacy, gotcha,” Adannar replies good-naturedly. “You want me to take the birds?”

“…Yes.”

Uthvir grins as Adannar picks up the temporary cage, and heads out; or means to. When he gets to the door he pauses and looks back, like he’s just realized something.

“Oh! Uthvir! If you like the non-sexy kind of roleplay, you should come to Dungeons and Dragons night!” he declares. “It’s really fun! I’m a paladin!”

Thenvunin laughs really awkwardly, and immediately moves to start forcing Adannar out. He drops his purple journal onto his desk. Uthvir idly picks it up again while he’s not paying attention, and starts discretely thumbing through it.

“Ha, bro, that’s so funny, pretending we play Dungeons and Dragons, that’s a good one  _now go!”_

Ooh, there are  _drawings_  in the notebook _,_  too.

…Of birds.

Well, that’s not exactly a surprise.

“It’s on Sundays-”

“Bro!!”

_Thenerassan felt faint as the enemy general’s strong arms closed around him. But it was not malice that filled their gaze, though there eyes still seemed lit with fire…_

“Okay, right, leaving now. Come on Flower, let’s go watch television with the finches!”

Adannar finally goes, careful with the cage, and Thenvunin slumps against the door.

And then slowly hits his head against it. Once, twice, three times.

Uthvir puts the notebook back down, and moves back over to him. They hug him from behind, hands curling into his shirt, and press a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me interfering with your game night,” they assure him. “Although it does sound pretty fun.”

Thenvunin stills.

“You… play?” he asks, tentatively.

Uthvir shrugs against him.

“Glory used to DM a lot. I’d join in, sometimes, if the group was small and they needed an extra or if someone bowed out or something. It’s been a long time, though,” they admit. “Are you a prince in the game, too? My beautiful Thenerassan. Such a shame we have found ourselves on the opposite ends of this war; but you are a prize worth waging any number of battles for. When this campaign is done, I will have your kingdom at my feet, and you in my bed forever more.”

They whisper the improvised lines to him, and he inhales sharply, and then twists around and gets his arms onto their shoulders.

“You’re not making fun of me?” he asks.

Uthvir doesn’t think he means to sound as vulnerable as he does. He flushes, and almost immediately tries to backtrack.

“I mean, I’m not - it’s not really like  _that,_ with - I guess if it was, it’d be the sort of thing it only made sense to make fun of…”

“Babe,” Uthvir interrupts. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m trying to have fun  _with_  you.”

Thenvunin goes quiet for a moment.

“…Oh,” he finally says.

“Want me to stop?” Uthvir asks.

“I… well…” their boyfriend deliberates, shifting in their grasp and glancing around the room, as if he half expects some errant asshole to come flying out of the woodworks and start calling him names. “Isn’t it… kinda lame?” he finally asks.

“Don’t your bros play?” they wonder. Adannar had kind of implied it, and somehow they doubt it could be kept a secret for long in this house. Thenvunin shifts a little, but then nods.

“Well then, who’s going to judge?” they reason.

He doesn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“I guess… if you want to come, that’d be okay…” he finally allows.

Uthvir grins.

“Sounds fun,” they decide. “Though I think there’s another game I’d like to finish first, my prince…”

The line gets him blushing and going tongue-tied again.

Perfect.

 

~

 

Victory loves it when Aelynthi is sick.

Not ‘needs to be rushed to the hospital’ sick, but sniffles and sore throats kind of sick. Because when Aelynthi is sick he gets…very affectionate.

“My giant, gorgeous oaf,” Aelynthi murmurs into Victory’s collarbone, “What would I do without you?”

“Call Thenvunin?” Victory questions aloud, even as Aelynthi lets out a pathetic cough and burrows in further to the blankets and Victory’s chest. It would be more romantic if he didn’t have a Kleenex box tucked under his arm and a horribly stuffy nose that made him sound like he was talking through a snorkel, but Victory is going to take what he can get.

“Thenvunin fusses,” Aelynthi mutters. His forehead is hot, nearly scalding against Victory’s bare skin. “And makes me drink herbal tea.”

“You probably  _should_  have some,” Victory looks to the cup on the bedside table. “It’s the kind Selene makes.” He doesn’t get how Aelynthi can drink a double shot of espresso without grimacing but the moment he’s given a cup of something with a root in it he’s suddenly a fussy two-year-old.

Aelynthi makes a disgusted grunting noise and stuffs his face into the nearest small, enclosed space he can find which…happens to be Victory’s armpit.

“Please don’t sneeze there.”

“Maybe if I breathe in deeply enough, the fumes will clear out my sinuses.” Aelynthi snickers, hot puffs of air tickling Victory’s arm, before he tilts his head up, “…kiss me.”

Well, he can’t really argue with that. Even if Aelynthi does look a bit like death warmed over. And the best way to cure yourself of a cold is to give it someone else, right? And Aelynthi always told him, idiots don’t catch colds so…there’s nothing wrong with a little kiss.

He bends down, and right before their lips touch, Aelynthi stiffens. His nose twitches, and Victory nearly throws himself backwards at the imminent sneeze that…comes out as a soft, tiny squeak. Like a baby mouse. Aelynthi’s face is flushed with fever and embarrassment and he just grabs a Kleenex and groans.

“…I am the least sexy person on the planet right now.”

“That isn’t true.”  _And you’re definitely the cutest._  Victory has to resist the urge to simply crush him in a bear hug. “There are plenty of less sexy people. Like Meredith.”

Aelynthi snorts. “I could be a zombie with half my face rotted off and still be sexier than that nug-humper.”

“Don’t be mean to the nugs.”

“Hnnngn.” Aelynthi mumbles, though Victory isn’t sure if it’s an agreement or not, and presses his cheek against Victory’s shoulder. “…you’re so good to me.”

Victory’s arms tighten around him. “I have a large weakness for pretty elf men with mouse sneezes—ow!” Victory half laughs as Aelynthi glares at him from where he’s bitten into the meat of his shoulder.

“You’re too sick for any of that tonight,” Victory teases.

Aelynthi rolls his eyes, “Don’t push me. I’m a blood mage. According to the Chantry the next logical step is cannibalism.”

Victory presses a kiss to Aelynthi’s forehead, watches him scrunch up his nose in that adorable way he does, and leans back against the pillows. The TV is on mute, but on, and Victory watches blurred images flicker across Aelynthi’s bare arm.

He listens to Aelynthi’s breath even out as he finally falls asleep, and he glances over at the cup of tea. It’ll go cold at this rate…and it would be a waste of all those herbs Ana and Selene picked and dried. He reaches over and takes a sip—and nearly chokes on it.

“…told you…” Aelynthi mutters, lips turning up in a smile, eyes still closed, before he sneezes again, a soft squeak that has Victory doubled over laughing.

“Idiot,” Aelynthi mocks fondly.

“Your idiot,” Victory agrees, and kisses him on the lips.

 

~

 

Selene’s arms are full of assorted colors of plastic lights while she’s making a mental map in her head of how best to display her message on top of the house.

Tossing them up ahead of herself, she shimmies up one of the back posts and flips onto the roof to get a better idea of the layout, and make sure there’s no miscellaneous debris to get in her way.

If Adannar wants a love declaration, he’ll get one.

 

Taking the piece of chalk out of her pocket, Selene begins to trace the outline of the larger heart to go around the message, when her foot bumps against a taut piece of rope.

Curious.

She follows it, and sees another woman with dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail climbing off the other side of the house, snickering to herself. Frowning, Selene follows the rope to the other side, where a pair of buckets are hanging next to someone’s window. Dirthamens window.

Well,  _that’s_  not happening.

Selene slides off the roof and back down the column before letting herself into the house and running up the stairs. Adannar calls out a “Go get him, Sel!” that she ignores, and knocks several times on Dirthamens door before he answers.

 

His eyes widen, and she lets herself into his room with a “Don’t open your window.”

“I…why?”

Selene doesn’t answer as she turns to crane her neck and attempt to see the items from his window. Once she spots them, she casts a spell to keep them suspended.

“Ok,  _now_ open your window.”

 

Dirthamen does so, and Selene carefully moves the buckets into his bedroom. She frowns. Deeply.

“This is an awful prank.” she declares.

Dirthamen takes a look at the bucket full of tar, and the other one full of fur and bird feathers.

“Ah. Is today Feast Day?”

“Mm-hm. Is this…normal?”

He nods “For my sister, yes.”

“Really? Sylaise never struck me as the type.”

“She is not. Andruil is.”

“Hm…” Selene contemplates.

 

“How did you find this?” he interrupts, attempting to change the subject.

“Oh, I almost tripped over it while I was setting up Adannars prank. Mine is much less cruel than this, though,” she murmurs, then turns to look at him with a grin “Wanna help?”

Dirthamen considers it for a moment, before nodding and following Selene back outside. He watches with interest as she climbs back up the porch column and flips onto the roof.

 

“I believe we have a ladder, you know.”

“Adannar would notice me carrying a ladder, which would ruin the surprise” Selene shrugs, then holds out her hand to help Dirthamen up. He takes her hand, and is caught off guard when she practically lifts him up herself.

That is…an interesting piece of information, he thinks.

 

She quickly finishes the outline of the larger heart, and hands Dirthamen a small pile of light strings.

“Start laying these down over the outline, please. I’ll start work on the inside.”

 

He nods, and the two of them are finished within the hour. Selene grins, and pats his shoulder when she looks down at the finished product. “Yep. This is gonna be great,” she thinks, before shooting Serahlin a text.

 

“This is a very strange prank. What is the point?”

 

“A bit of harmless embarrassment, and the pride of showing up Adannar, mostly.”

Dirthamen is still not entirely sure he understands, but Selene seems to be more knowledgeable on this subject.

 

She helps ease him back down before sliding comfortably off of the roof and shuffles back and forth on the balls of her feet before giving him a small kiss on the cheek.

It catches him off guard, still.

“What was that for?” he manages.

 

Selene gives a casual shrug and tries to push down her blush “Just a thank you, for your help.”

Dirthamens brows crease “I should be the one thanking you though,yes? You stopped my sisters pranks from going off.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Selene grins, and Dirthamen wonders if perhaps he should be exceedingly worried about the gears shifting in her head, instead. “Can I get those buckets from you though?”

 

“Selene, you should not begin a war with Andruil.”

“Psh,” Selene says, with an overly dramatic pose, her hand over her heart “I would  _never._  I simply want to make sure they are properly disposed of.”

Dirthamen still has his doubts, but allows her to take off with them when she promises to be back in time for the house dinner.

–

 

Selene flips through her phone until she finds Glory’s number

 

← You hate Andruil, right?

→ You are very gifted at understatements.

← Wanna help me with something? Meet me by the field in 15.

→ I knew I liked you.

 

–

 

Selene is indeed back at the house in time for dinner, grinning like a loon and smelling slightly of burnt grass.

 

Dirthamen frowns, and crosses his arms “There is a feather in your hair,” he says disapprovingly.

 

“What a strange thing, given that I was here all day setting up Adannars prank, hm?” she smiles back innocently.

It is around this time that Serahlin shows up however, and when she pulls the feather off of Selenes head questioningly, Selene just smiles back at her. The sun is finally setting, and she tells Serahlin to stay out on the grass while she goes in and grabs Adannar.

 

She comes back out with a bouncing, barking Flower, Adannar, and an assorted group from the house while she disappears along the side of the house.

 

“Where is she going?” Serahlin asks. Dirthamen just shrugs in response.

 

The roof of the house lights up suddenly. There is a large bright red heart surrounding white letters and a smaller pink heart spelling out “A ❤ S” glowing brightly enough that passing planes are probably able to make it out.

 

“Damn, Sel. You got me.” Adannar cries, but there is a large smile on his face as he wraps his arm over Serahlins shoulder.

 

“Dirthamen helped. Happy Feast day, Addy.” Selene smiles back proudly with her hands on her hips.

 

Dirthamen leans in cautiously to whisper to Selene “You did not do their whole names?”

“I didn’t have enough lights. These are technically on loan from Melanadahls spare stash. Maybe next year.”

 

Dirthamen nods, and plucks another feather off of Selene’s sweater.

Perhaps next year he will help with the planning, as well.

 

~

 

Inquiry stares as her girlfriend-soon-to-be-wife goes storming past her. It takes a few minutes to recognize her, through the soot, and ash, and tar, and feathers, and the overwhelming scent of burnt hair.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Andruil says curtly, before heading into the bathroom.

“As long as it’s not a new kink,” Inquiry agrees, with a shrug.

 

~

 

The large crate the clan sent Ana of her uncles belongings was only the first in a series of boxes. Some smaller boxes came, and they contained records, and old cassette tapes, V.H.S. tapes, and photo albums. The most personal of these artifacts was his journal which Ana has safely tucked away in her bedroom.

She doesn’t fully go through them until her junior year in college and she finds a small notebook with the word  _recipes_ written in his hand on the front. When she opens it, she finds just what the cover had indicated. Pages and pages of hand written recipes, most of them traditional dalish dishes.

When she finds the recipe for hearth cakes, her heart swells at the memories of them. They always tasted so good. She decides she wants to bake them soon, so she sets aside the next weekend to gather ingredients for it.

She makes the trip to the dalish reservation on the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest for some of the ingredients. Namely halla milk and butter. The trip takes most of the day, but she gets back she is excited to get it started. She’s cooking well into the night and sleeps at the little kitchen table as they cool down and in the morning she’s ready to take a bite.

Ana pours herself an glass of the leftover halla milk and takes a bite out of one. Her throat is thick as she goes to swallow her bite and she feels tears streaming down her face. Large droplets flowing over her cheeks and onto her shirt and the kitchen table. She stays in place, crying and eating, until she has eaten most of the first batch.

They taste the same.

She takes the remaining cakes to the frat house later that day.

~

The next time she makes the cakes, it’s in the new apartment in Arlathan she had bought with Vena. Finding the halla milk and butter had been easier, and she woke up extra early to make them so Vena could take some with him to work.

As they are cooling, he comes around and plucks one off the rack, shoving it in his mouth before picking up another one. When she kisses him goodbye, his lips taste of the cakes and halla butter.

~

Ana loses track of how often she makes them. She keeps the recipe secret, and when Selene and Serahlin ask for it, she refuses. Uthvir gets close to finding the old recipe book, and she changes the hiding spot when they do. She keeps making them, though. Doubling the recipe to accommodate their growing clan. The children enjoy the treats, and she enjoys making them as her uncle did for her so long ago.

When their oldest children go off to college, Ana writes the recipe on a little card and seals it in an envelope. It’s a secret recipe, after all. She hands the little envelope to Ileth.

“This is a family secret, da’len. Guard it well. Remember to let me have some when you make it,” she tells him. She smiles when she sees his eyes light up.

 

~

 

The first time a stranger approaches Elanna with gossip about Vena is when she’s in the library. 

“I don’t want to upset you, but I saw Venavismi with that girl from the volley ball team at last nights party.”

Ana was confused. Why were they coming and telling her this? Were they looking for a specific reaction? Did they think she was going to get angry, or cry? Have college students suddenly turned into her old middle school bullies?

“Okay?” she says. “I’m happy for him, I suppose.”

This happens a few more times, and Ana is  _very_  confused.

Once, during her early morning run a girl stops her. She’s disheveled and holding her shoes in her hand. “Elanna I am so, so sorry! I don’t want you to be angry with Venavismi and I think you should know that I regret everything! It was a stupid drunken night I woke up this morning and immediately regretted hooking up with him.”

Elanna blinks a few times. Oh, she realizes. She clears her throat, and throws her hands up into the air. “I cannot  _believe_  you would do this to me, girl I have  _literally never seen in my life!_ How dare Vena go and have dates and hook ups!”

The girl just stares as Elanna jogs away.

The next time, Ana does the impression of an Orleasian noble, with the accent and everything. She lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Maker he did not!Alert the Chantry! Fetch me a fainting couch I’m going to— _”_ and promptly fakes a faint as the stranger stares at her in shock.

The next time she is approached, the strange man takes the initiative to whisper it in her ear, because she was on the quad with Adannar and Selene. “By my lucky stars, If I had my pearls on I would be  _clutchin’ em so tight_  because this betrayal is too much for little ol’ me to handle. Addy I am goin’ faint. I think I see the light! Tell Venavismi… that… I don’t care… who he kisses.”

Adannar bursts into a fit of laughter as Ana falls into him, feigning unconsciousness, while Selene is doing a frankly terrible job of holding in her own laughter. The young man stalks away, flustered and a little irate.

It hits a breaking point when she’s in class sitting next to Uthvir and going over homework with them. The two are interrupted by yet another student gossiping about Vena.

“I don’t care who or what he does with whoever he pleases. He’s a grown ass man, so  _please_  go bother someone else with these fucking rumors I’m fucking sick of it!”

When they leave, Elanna all but slams her head onto the desk, startling Uthvir and whoever else was unfortunate to witness that display.

“I take it this happens often?” Uthvir states, matter-of-factly.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she sighs.

“Do you really not care?” They seem to be prodding at something Ana doesn’t like thinking about. She pulls her arms around her face. A muffled “no” is all she offers them. They stop asking then. Instead they opt for mentioning something about Mass Effect and Ana lifts her face to them to continue on with that conversation.

~

When Elanna is finally done with classes for the day, she goes back home and stares at the ceiling. No, it doesn’t bother her that Vena has a lot of partners. He can see whoever he wants, and they’re not dating or anything. She  _definitely_ doesn’t have feelings… Right? She sighs and sits up. It’s during times like these when she would normally call uncle Varvin for advice but…

Well.

She opts for going outside instead of wallowing in the emptiness of her room. Maybe she can find Adannar and Flower and play with them. Just to get this out of her mind. She puts on her beanie and jacket, locking the door behind her.

~

Ana stands in front of the door to the frat house, and before she rings the doorbell, the door swings open. Aelynthi stands there, looking just as startled. She remembers seeing him around. They’ve met, but they’ve never really spoken much to each other.

“If you’re looking for the other guys they’ve all gone out.” Straightforward fellow, isn’t he.

“Oh.” she says. His eyes look puffy, Ana thinks. The two are quiet for a while, before Aelynthi sighs.

“I was just on my way to get dinner and a drink or something.” He says. Ana takes a step back to let him pass. He rubs the back of his neck, “wanna come with?” The invite was not what she expected, but she accepts and falls into step next to him.

~

The drive out into the city is filled with conversation about nothing in particular. School, classes, majors, departments, shows, video games, that kind of thing. Elanna gasps when Aelynthi tells her he has never finished a Mass Effect movie.

“This is an insult. Now we have to watch them,” she says.

“All three?!”

“Of course! I mean, Dirthamen would say the books are better and he might be right about that but the movies are _so bad_  you have to see it! Okay, but I kinda liked the first one. But the other two were pretty terrible. Uthvir knows what I mean.” Aelynthi’s brows knit together at the thought of enduring three terrible movies. “Aelynthi, I have to introduce you to a little someone named Garrus Vakarian. A.K.A., my husband. You’ll love him! He has one  _hell_  of a voice.”

Ana swears she sees his lips quirk upwards, and it makes her smile, too. She spends the rest of the drive describing that one scene where Shepard and Garrus pretend to have a first date in the third movie, which ends with the two doing the tango on the dance floor of the bar. “The fucking alien can dance Aelynthi! Tell me that’s not something you want to see!”

~

They drive out to one of those restaurant-bars. Not an expensive joint, just food and booze. The waitress seats them on one of those tall tables close to the bar and leaves them with menus.

“If you’re drinking, I won’t,” he tells her. Responsible of him, she thinks. She shakes her head.

“I’m not in the drinking mood so you go on ahead,” she tells him. She has her license, so if he plans on getting hammered, she can bring him back safely.

“Drinking alone is no fun,” he grumbles. “How about just one beer each, then?” It takes quite a lot for Ana to get intoxicated. If he was really in the mood, they could eat dinner and go back to her place. She could make midnight martinis. She agrees to the beer and extends the offer of martinis to Aelynthi.

“How else am I going to get you into bed,” she jokes.

“You’re gonna need much more than drinks to pull that off,” he retorts. “Vena seems to have no problem getting people into his bed. Alcohol isn’t even usually a part of it.”

Ana lets out a groan at the mention of Vena’s many partners, and Aelynthi’s brows quirk with curiosity.

“Not a fan? I was sure you two were doing stuff like that, too” he says.

“You, and apparently the entire university.” She takes a swing of her drink.

“Jealous, are we?” he says. Ana shakes her head.

“No. I mean, he can be with whoever he pleases, it’s fine. If he was my boyfriend I’d be mad, but the fact is that he is not. We’re just friends, and it’s just pissing me off. It was pretty funny at first, I got to try out a whole bunch of impressions and accents just to fuck around,” he chuckles, “but it’s gotten to the point where people coming up to me to explicitly inform me is a nuisance.”

“That’s jealousy,” he says. There’s is smug look on his face that makes Ana knit her brows together.

“Can’t be. If I were jealous I’d be mad at  _him_. I’m not even angry at his partners,” she takes another swing and finishes it. She wishes it was a stronger drink.

“Humor me this,” he starts. “You’re okay with Vena hooking up and sleeping around with other people,” she nods in response. “But you’re not happy hearing about it.” She nods again. “In other words, you don’t like that he does this, so you turn the other way, and hearing about it makes that impossible.” She stares at him, brows raised. “Jealousy.” He snaps his fingers and Ana lets out a small whimper and snatches his drink from his hands and takes a swing. “Hey!” he says in protest.

“We are having midnight martinis,” she promises as she slides his beer back to him. “Midnight martinis and dancing Turians!”

 

~

 

The drive back to campus was filled with more conversation about the movies they were going to watch. Elanna doesn’t have a Netflix account, so she streams torrents from her laptop. It’s a simple enough thing to do: have good protection against viruses, an HDMI chord, and a TV. All of which she has, she already has all three Mass Effect movies on her computer, so it’s as simple as plugging in the HDMI chord and hitting ‘play.’

She gives Aelynthi directions to her place, since he has never been there in the past. He parks in a spot next to the front, and locks the vehicle after they’ve both exited it. Elanna calls for the elevator.

“So what’s your poison? I’ve got some wine, I’m sure. No beer though. Never been a big fan of the taste, frankly. I know I’ve got stuff for martinis. They’re one of Selene’s favorite, believe it or not. I’ve also got freshly squeezed orange juice, and lemonade. I can make something with aloe gel.”

“Aloe gel?” Aelynthi echoes, confused.

“Yup. I harvested it yesterday from my plant. It’s been chilling in the fridge for over 24 hours so it should be good to go. If you’re up for trying it, that is. I’ve also got mint I can pluck off my plant, if you’re not feeling too experimental.”

Aelynthi contemplates for a second, but ultimately goes for the mint. “So you’ve got a lot of plants?”

“Botany and environmental scientist major, remember? I use them for my research, but having fresh mint to add to my water is a plus.” She says.

“So do you watch plant documentaries for fun, too? I should mention that the next time Thenvunin wants to drag me off for one.”

They enter Ana’s apartment and Aelynthi takes a seat on the couch while Ana goes to fetch her laptop. They start on the martinis, then.

~

It doesn’t take long until they have enough drinks. Not enough to get shit-faced, but enough for that pleasant buzz. They set their glasses down on the coffee table, as Ana pulls up the first Mass Effect movie.

Aelynthi had seen half of it already, because Mel is in it, but upon completing the first, he demanded the second movie. Ana goes to work pulling up the second movie, when Aelynthi’s phone begins to buzz. He stumbles off the couch.

“I’ve gotta take this!” He says suddenly, as he grabs his coat and makes his way out to the fire escape. Ana blinks after him, and finishes the task at hand before claiming her spot on the couch again. She refills his glass as she waits for him to come back. Her own glass has been drained, and she’s beginning to feel that buzz, she thinks.

It’s a little more than an hour later when Aelynthi comes back, his eyes are a little puffy again as he takes his seat on the couch and begins sipping his now filled glass.

“Start the movie,” he says, and Elanna obliges. The opening credits play and it’s maybe 10 minutes into the movie when the Normandy is destroyed and Shepard dies. Aelynthi all but stops the movie.

“Did Shepard just… Die?! You have got to be shitting me.” He takes a swing of his drink. “How the fuck?! You can’t just kill off the main character like that! That’s it, the movie is over Shepard just died!” He exclaims.

“We just gotta watch more to find out what happens, Aelynthi.”

“How can the story go on with the main character dead, Ana? This is crap.” He drains his glass, then as Ana stares at him in mild shock.

“Spoiler alert: Shepard undergoes surgery and comes back. It’s pretty much the science fiction-y version of Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Yeah, but there’s no such thing as resurrection! Complete unrealistic bull..” He takes a hold of his glass again and when noting comes out, he looks at it as if it has somehow betrayed him. Ana is quick about things as she goes into the cabinet and produces a bottle of brandy she keeps around for emergencies. She sets it on the table and begins to pour them shots and slides one over to Aelynthi. He throws his head back as he takes it. “You should be drinking too, Ana.”

Elanna takes her shot and slams the little glass down on the table. Aelynthi lets out a long sigh, then.

~

The two continue taking shots of brandy as Aelynthi complains about the inevitability of death, and how Shepard’s resurrection shouldn’t even be possible.

“Liike… What the fuck.. What’s with the whole mortality shit, anyway?” He slurs.

“I don’t know, shits fuckin’ weird, man.” Ana says, staring down at her shot before she throws it back. “People just… Shouldn’t die. Like, they end up leaving a shit ton of stuff unfinished, and what if there’s someone they love that they’re leaving behind. Like, what the fuck, life? Why you just gotta… End?” Aelynthi promptly begins to cry after that.

“Oh no, don’t cry, dude. It’s okay, shit happens.” Ana says throwing her arm over Aelynthi’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but her efforts prove fruitless.

“Victory got deployed, and it fuckin’ suuucks!” He starts crying again. Ana is quiet through it.

“My uncle died last month,” she states matter-of-factly. Aelynthi begins to cry harder after that revelation.

~

“Hey, Aelynthi,” Elanna says after he seems to have calmed down some. “Ya know what you should do?”

“What?” He asks, his voice is uneven, and he’s got snot running down his face before he grabs a tissue from the box on the side table. Elanna stands up and grabs Aelynthi’s arm.

“Let’s go up to the terrace. Scream out whatever it is you’re unhappy about to the stars. They keep all the secrets. Uncle Varvin used to say that when I was jus’ a  _weee da'len_.” She says, as she brings her index finger and thumb close together. Aelynthi looks at her like she just grew a second head.

“That sounds… Craazy. But fuck it, let’s do it.”

Elanna leads him up the fire escape and onto the terrace, where they have a clear view of the night sky. It’s a clear night and the moon is shining on the two elves as they lean onto each other.

Aelynthi raises his head up to the sky and promptly begins to yell. It doesn’t fully register what exactly he’s yelling, most of it is nonsensical, but the name Victory comes up very often, Ana thinks. She can see his breath in the cold air.

When he’s finally done, he looks toward Ana. “That felt fuckin’ great. Your turn, little red.”

“What do I gotta confess to the stars about? I’ve got nothin’ to say to them, bro.”

“You’ve got… A lot. Don’t play that bullshit on me. You… You said it all tonight.” He says poking her in the gut.

“I… I dunno know what you’re talking about, man. You gotta be more specific,” her voice slurs at the end as he gives her a disapproving look.

“You got a huuuuuge thing for a certain someone, Ana. Jus… Admit it. You said the stars can keep all the secrets.”

Ana’s brows knit together as a sour expression spreads itself across her face. She relents, and raises her head to the sky, just as he did. The beanie falls off her head and she yells, too.

_“Venaavismiii, your hook ups… Suuuuckkk! They suck, and I suck for thinking they suck because I know.. I don’t have the right to think they suck. I’m not good enough! I’m. Not. Good. Enoooough! Fuuuccck! I fucking suck I’m sooooooo sorry Vena!”_

Elanna sighs and her gaze falls onto her bare feet on the concrete of the roof. “That fucking sucked, man. That was the worst idea ever.” She sighs again and sees her breath escape her parted lips. “Where’s my brandy?”

Aelynthi looks at her with a confused expression on his face. “Where the fuck did that come from?” She winces.

“I don’t know, dude.”

~

Elanna wakes the next morning to the incessant chime of her ringtone. She groans as she begins to feel around for it, only to grab Aelynthi’s foot instead. She hears him make a sound at the sudden sensation. The two of them somehow made it close to the bed. The blanket is half on the floor and they are both sprawled in very uncomfortable positions, still in their coats. She begins to feel around some more and hopes its no one important. Her head is pounding behind her skull and everything is too bright.

Thats it. No more midnight martinis, or emergency brandy.

 

~

Victory has this stupid bomber jacket. It’s gigantic, and old, and threadbare; ridiculously patched up and fixed. The fleece lining the inside has gone thin, and there’s a ridiculous  _Halla Davidson_  patch on the right shoulder.

Aelynthi hates it. It’s ugly and old and smells like gasoline and oil and leather polish.

But most of all it smells like Victory.

The first time Victory offers to let him where it, he refuses. They’re out on a date after winter has set in, and Aelynthi is wearing three layers of clothing, plus a giant scarf from his mother—his nanae had begun to wear them and they’d come back into style soon after—and he’s  _still_  cold.

Victory glances over at him and smiles, “Want to wear my coat?”

“And smell like the inside of a garage for the next 24 hours? Hypothermia is preferable.”

Halfway through the night, Victory slips it around his shoulders, and he lets it stay  _only_  because his lips are likely turning blue.

The second time Victory offers the jacket is in the middle of a dark movie theatre. They’ve turned the air conditioning up so high Aelynthi wouldn’t be surprised if his coke frosted over. He hunkers down and glares at the superhero action film Victory wanted to see and contemplates setting the entire place on fire, just to warm up.

Victory catches his glare and his smile fades a bit, “Do you want to leave?”

He does. The movies is super boring and he’s freezing, and his toes actually  _hurt_ —though that might be because he’s wearing sandals in the middle of fall…but they’re fashionable and he likes them. But Victory was really looking forward to this film. It’s part of some big series he loves, characters from his favorite childhood comics and Aelynthi may be a lot of things but he is  _not_  a bad boyfriend. Just because he can’t see the artistic value of gigantic explosions and cgi doesn’t mean he should ruin it for someone else, especially when that someone else does lots of things that  _Aelynthi_ likes and he doesn’t. 

“It’s fine. Give me your jacket.”

“You hate my jacket.”

“Then it’s a good thing no one is paying attention to us to see me wearing the monstrosity. Now hand it over.”

The third time he finds himself wearing the thing is at the latest summer music festival. The air smells like smoke laced with alcohol, hot and muggy, and Aelynthi may have had more than a few drinks, and a few puffs of elfroot from one of the attractive Dalish boys who offered him and Victory to share his campsite.

The music is so loud, he can hear the bass in his bones, vibrating through the ground and into the air like a swarm of bees. When he and Victory wake up the next morning and begin searching for their clothes inside their tent, he finds his shirt missing. Victory is 90% certain it was stolen by the attractive Dalish couple that had mysteriously left earlier that morning…along with Victory’s cellphone.

“No worries,” Victory shrugs, “I needed a new one anyway.”

Aelynthi spends the next three days wearing Victory’s stupid jacket.

The fourth time he doesn’t give it back.

Victory goes on another tour of duty and Aelynthi is left with nothing but the fading scent on that  _stupid_  jacket. He sleeps in it every night. By the time Victory returns to him, he thinks he’s managed to get the smell of an old oil and lube shop out of it. But Victory’s smell has nearly disappeared too.

Victory doesn’t mention it, the night he crawls into bed and Aelynthi wakes up the next morning with the giant oaf curled around him and snoring like a hibernating bear, and he doesn’t even complain.

“You usually sleep naked,” Victory murmurs roughly against his neck.

“Usually,” Aelynthi agrees, in an oddly content mood. That has nothing to do with his foolish ogre or a boyfriend being here. Not at all.

“If you like my jacket so much, I could get you one too.”

“Please do not insult me by assuming that I wear this jacket because it looks good.” Aelynthi drawls, turning over to plant a kiss along Victory’s jaw. He doesn’t aim, so it hits his chin instead. Victory doesn’t seem to mind; he just bends down and captures his lips.

 

~

 

 

Weekends are especially slow days when it’s this cold. It’s on those days where Elanna can spend lots of time on hikes to harvest herbs and just bring back whenever she finds something interesting. She was able to find a few stalks of Felandaris and some weird looking stones. There were also some interesting sets of bones which she buried so the remaining flesh can decompose naturally while she was out on her hike earlier that day. She looks at the herb. It’s known to be a potent sedative if taken in large doses, she remembers. Elanna supposes she could use it for some de-stressing oils, targeted to people who like to use aroma therapy.

She opens the notebook she made when she spent time with her clan. It’s much cheaper than buying new books over and over, and she quite enjoys the idea of being able to mess with different types of paper and the cover. There are some plants pressed in between pages as a reference, and detailed notes on where they’re found, how they’re properly cared for, how to harvest them, and cautions on dosages. Too much rashvine nettle and people tend to have an allergic reaction. Royal elfroot is only used in small doses and even then not very often. Crystal Grace has an amazing aroma and the oil helps soften the skin. She thinks if she can pair the felandaris with some elfroot and mint it would provide acceptable results. Felandaris has a decent smell, and maybe a few drops of the crystal grace oil and lavender if needed.

She picks up a small scrap of cloth and folds a bit of the felandaris stalk into it before pressing it between two pages. She opens the plant encyclopedia her uncle bought for her when she graduated high school and makes a mark near a passage of the felandaris to indicate the newest addition to her stores. She begins reading about it and making marks near passages that she would have to remember. It’s a book Ana has read countless times, but re-reading it is never dull. She cannot seem to focus on the words, however.

Serahlin’s voice keeps echoing the phrase “we are going to tell them,” which she said the other day. She had told Adannar about her feelings shortly after that. Elanna rests her head on the table, trying to will her heart to stop racing, to no avail. She can feel her face heat and it is wholly uncomfortable, she thinks. She takes a deep breath and picks up her phone. She scrolls through her music before settling the device on one of those speakers that plug into your phone and presses ‘play.’ Loud rock music begins to play as she sings along and starts tidying up. She just needs to busy herself with chores.

The song is interrupted by the chiming of her phone. She detaches it from the stereo to see texts from Vena.

 _– > banana are you busy??? _  
–> wanna grab lunch with me?   
–> anad coffee? maybe a movie?

Her heart is back to pounding again, and Serahlin’s words echo in her mind. She agrees and he wastes no time telling her he’d be picking her up in 10 minutes.  _10 minutes_. She throws open her closet and puts on her leggings, a skirt and a long sleeved shirt under her big blue coat. She looks at the funny stones she collected an picks up a few. She wraps a big fluffy scarf around her neck that hides most of her face. She throws on a hat and her fluffy boots, too.

Vena shows up not long after. He’s wearing her scarf again, she realizes. “Ana-bo-bana! You look very cozy today.” He greets, when she takes the passenger seat of his car. She smiles at him, and tries to ignore the beating of her heart behind her ribs. She fishes the weird stones out of her bag and holds it out to him.

“I found these today during my hike.” She explains, her voice is muffled from behind her big scarf. She’s glad for it. It hides her face.

“More tokens of your affection to add to my collection. And here I am, I haven’t even given you your your wintersend gift yet.” Elanna begins shaking her head. The fact that he actually kept the weird things she gave him in high school makes her happy. The butterflies are back. “At least let me buy today?” He asks.

“We usually split the bill, though.” She says.

“I know, but leave everything up to me today. I insist. I haven’t taken you out like this in a while, so just this once.” He’s doing that thing with his eyes, Ana thinks. That thing where they remind her of puppies, and she’s forced to let him have his way.

He smiles as he turns the key and they set out. He turns on the stereo to play some music. It’s not his usual bubble gum pop she knows he listens to. It’s a playlist of….terrible dated love songs? She knows this one. It played at the end of a movie she watched a few times with uncle Varvin. They begin to sing along to the playlist, then. Elanna is smiling at the end of it. She pulled off her scarf in the warmth of Vena’s car between songs.

“So Ana,” he starts. The next track is just beginning, and his fingers drum against the steering wheel. “Do you want to go to the ball with me?” She turns toward him, brows raised. The pieces click into place. The dated love songs, a big party, just like high school, she remembers.

Ana stutters. “You’re really asking me?” Vena gives her a questioning look.

“Yeah, unless of course you have a date. Do you?” There is a hint of disappointment in his voice, she realizes and immediately retracts her statement.

“No! No, not at all! I just… Honestly, I was sure you were going with someone else.” She admits. She sees the tension ease in his face a bit.

“Who else would I ask?” He says. “Ana, you’re my friend and I definitely don’t want to go with someone else. I want to go with you” Her heart flutters. Oh, she’s in trouble.

“I’d love to, Vena.”

“It’s a date.”

~

Lunch goes well. It’s business as usual as they talk about the things happening around them. Gossip is part of it, as Vena tells her that he saw Adannar and Serahlin kissing in the house. Ana giggles at that. She’s happy for her friends.

_We are going to tell them._

Serahlin’s voice is back in her mind. She wants to tell him, but now doesn’t seem like the best time so she does her best to ignore it.

~

They decide to walk along some of the streets in the city after lunch. It’s cold, and Vena is a warm presence by her side. They window shop and then stop into a cafe for hot chocolate to warm themselves up. By the time they reach Ana’s apartment building, she’s giddy from having such a good time. He hasn’t seemed to stop smiling either. Ana’s scarf sits in her lap as she starts folding it to wrap it around herself again. She’s about to open the door to leave, when Vena’s hand on her shoulder stops her.

“You didn’t think you were going to just leave without your Wintersend gift, now did you?” He pulls out a jewelry box from the glove compartment. Its a yellow velvet box with a blue bow on it. Elanna takes it from his hands and stares at it.

“Can I open it?” She asks. Vena’s smile grows, as he nods, eager for her reaction. She swallows and opens the lid. Her face must be so red, she can feel the heat creeping up to her ears. Inside the box sits a necklace with a banana pendent and the letter ‘A’ next to it. She giggles. “You would, Vena. This gift is so you.”

“Ana-bo-bana, do you get it?” He takes the box from her and removes the necklace. “Let’s put it on.” He gestures for her to turn around, and she does. He moves her hair to one side, brushing the side of her neck in the process. She shivers at the touch and begins to gather her hair up to hold it out of the way so he can slip the necklace around her neck.

His hands come around her neck as he places the necklace and secures it.

_We are going to tell them._

Ana feels the heat in her face rise significantly, and she can hear her heartbeat in her ears. She brings a hand over her chest to try and silence the infernal organ, but to no avail. She slowly turns around to face Vena. He’s wearing a bright smile, and his eyes are warm.  
“I knew it would suit you,” he says, as her hand comes up to touch the banana around her neck.

_We are going to tell them._

“Vena, I-”

He stops her by planting a quick kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll pick you up for the ball at 8.”

She nods, thanks him for the gift and goes home. She closes the door and sinks down to the floor, her head between her knees. Her cellphone begins to chime in her bag, but she ignores it.

_Oh, no. She thinks. I’m in way too deep._

Her phone chimes again. She ignores it again.

_There’s no way I can go as his friend. There’s no way that I can think of him in friendly terms, now._

There’s a chime, and then another, and then another. She cannot ignore it this time. She pulls her phone out and checks her messages.

 _– > Hello. My name is Victory._  
–> I believe you are a friend of my Aelynthi.  
–> It is imperative that you help me, Elanna.

 


	13. Let's Get it On

Thenvunin has no idea what to get Uthvir for Wintersend.

This is a problem.

He mostly settles it by avoiding it for as long as he possibly can. Which, admittedly, is not the best approach. He has ideas. Some vague notion of buying something very nice, and presenting it to Uthvir, and then probably getting kissed. And then his thoughts veer off along that topic, and usually he has to shake it away and remind himself that he has things to do and can’t spend all his time daydreaming about banging his significant other.

So somehow, even though he knows he doesn’t know what he’s getting, but that he’s obviously going to get them  _something_ , it sort of… creeps up on him. Closer and closer, until he realizes that Wintersend is almost upon them and he  _doesn’t have anything for Uthvir._

He wakes up in a cold sweat on that thought, on a grey and brittle morning, and looks over at his finch cage. And then at his beautiful, soft, cozy white boots.

His first class isn’t until the afternoon.

He rushes getting dressed, doing the bare minimum for his hair and tying it back before pulling on a pair of thick jeans, and his blue snowflake sweater. His boots, and his coat. He almost rushes out of his room before he remembers himself, and takes the time to check his finch cage, and pour them their food, and take the cover off for them. Pepper and Tummy groom each other as they wake, and Thenvunin nods at them before rushing off again.

Aelynthi. Aelynthi is good at picking out presents. He’ll know what to do.

Thenvunin barely knocks before barrelling into his best friend’s room. Aelynthi’s yoga music is playing softly, and he’s going through his morning routine.

“Calm down, Thenvunin,” he says, without even breaking stride.

Thenvunin shifts his weight from one foot to the other, anxiously.

“Bro,” he says. “Bro, I don’t have a Wintersend gift for Uthvir! What am I going to do? I don’t even know what to get them!”

Aelynthi cracks an eye open, and looks at him. And then he lets out a long breath, and eases his way out of his current pose.

“I’m a terrible boyfriend,” Thenvunin realizes, with dawning horror. He’s not going to have a gift for Uthvir. Or he’s going to find them some shitty, last-minute off-the-shelf thing, and they’ll  _know_  and they’ll think he doesn’t actually  _care._

How did it get to this point? How did he let it get to this point?!

“You’re not a terrible boyfriend. Go warm up the car,” Aelynthi instructs him, doing a few more light stretches. “There’s still time to find them something.”

“Right. Yes. Good,” Thenvunin agrees, and rushes back out, his mind racing through ideas that it dismisses just as quickly as it finds them. Clothes? Uthvir customizes the vast majority of their wardrobe themselves, they’re not going to want something off-the-rack and there’s no time to have anything tailor made. Electronics? Their phone is relatively new, and so is their laptop. Their room is pretty small, and doesn’t have space for a television or anything. If Thenvunin bought them something like that it would probably just end up at the frat house and then it would seem like he bought it for himself and he is not doing that, no. Food? Uthvir can get food anywhere, and besides, food gets eaten. It’s not precious and… keep… able. Ish. Not like the boots, anyway.

Jewellery?

Thenvunin has no idea what sort of jewellery they would even  _like._

Why doesn’t he know that? They’ve been dating for months!

Oh, gods, he really is the worst boyfriend ever.

Aelynthi opens up the driver’s side door of his car, and Thenvunin blinks at his friend, who has wrapped himself up in scarves and soft gloves and his thickest jacket.

“Move. I’m driving,” he declares.

“It’s my car,” Thenvunin protests. But he can’t bring himself to put up much of a fight about it, as Aelynthi prods his shoulder and pulls him out, steering him over to the passenger side. He’s too distraught over the revelation that he is  _still_  a horrible disaster at relationships.

“You’re still freaking out,” Aelynthi informs him. “You can drive when you stop.”

“What do I even get them?!” Thenvunin asks, ignoring that in favour of dragging his hands down across his face, and sighing heavily. “How can I not know what to get them?”

“Because they’re a finicky weirdo who custom makes half their stuff, probably,” Aelynthi tells him, waving a hand before pulling them out of the parking space. “It’s fine. Victory’s impossible to shop for, too, he always says he likes everything even if he doesn’t. He takes ‘the thought counting’ much too far. Uthvir’s probably not going to have that issue, at least.”

Thenvunin just sighs, hopelessly. Would they pretend to like something they didn’t? He tries to imagine it, but in his mind’s eye he just sees Uthvir looking at their gift, and their expression falling as they realize that Thenvunin’s gotten them something utterly subpar and inappropriate.  _Is this really what you think I’m worth? After all this?_

His throat closes up, and he swallows a few times. Blinking rapidly and trying to banish the image from his mind. There has to be something. They haven’t even really started looking yet, and he is  _not_  going to go to pieces over this.

Even if he already has.

A little.

Aelynthi reaches over and manages a flailing pat to his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You’re  _fine_. We’ll get them something really nice. What’s your budget?”

Thenvunin swallows again, and maybe sniffs a bit – just a bit – and pulls out his phone. He checks his bank balance, and does some mental calculations. Mamae’s sending him some more money at the end of the month. Serahlin’s insisted on paying for his Wintersend gown. Between food, gas, minor expenses, and some emergency buffer…

“Six hundred dollars, about,” he decides.

Aelynthi coughs.

“Thenvunin,” he says. “That’s… plenty. We’ll find something.”

“But I don’t even know what kinds of presents they want,” he explains. “How can I not know that? How can I have never bought them a gift before now?” Has he been taking advantage of them? They don’t even expect… they’ve never even asked him to, well… to repay gifts with the kind of  _gratitude_  his other boyfriends expected. He knows they don’t even approve of that kind of reciprocation. But it’s the kind Thenvunin’s been accustomed to, only he hadn’t repaid in that way, and maybe he should have repaid with gifts of his own instead?

“Calm down,” Aelynthi repeats. “We’re going to get them a present. A really, really nice present.”

He turns the corner, and Thenvunin is still quietly freaking out over the situation just a little bit, perhaps, as they roll into the parking lot of the town’s largest shopping center. Finding a space, and then waiting a moment as Aelynthi texts someone.

“Who are you talking to?” Thenvunin wonders.

“Glory,” Aelynthi replies.

Thenvunin tries to keep from making a face.

He fails, just a little.

“I’m not sure they know what Uthvir likes, either,” he suggests, and a vivid mental image of Uthvir curled in their bed, alarmingly desolate and full of pained confessions, drifts through his mind.

“Did you know that Uthvir is a complete dork?” Aelynthi wonders.

His frown twists.

“Bro!” he objects. “You can’t go calling someone’s signif a dork, that’s slander! I’d be obligated to defend their honour and stuff, and I don’t want to fight you. You go for the eyes.”

Aelynthi grins.

“I do,” he agrees. “But that’s not what I meant, I mean, they’re a geek.”

“Bro!”

“They’re like  _you,_  they like ridiculous stories and games and things,” his best friend insists, sighing and then sliding his phone into his pocket. The car door clicks as he opens it. Thenvunin’s still frowning as they step out into the brittle air, and start making their way across the parking lot.

“Are you implying I’m a dork?” Thenvunin asks, a little shrilly.

“Fondly?” Aelynthi suggests. Then he raises his hands. “I’m not here to judge, I’m here to find you stuff for Uthvir.”

“Cool stuff,” he insists, treading carefully over a patch of ice. “Not dork stuff.”

“However you want to call it,” Aelynthi allows, magnanimously. “Enthusiasm is a good thing. Especially in this case, because there’s a new book out that’s from a series that Uthvir is apparently reading. On e-books, but I don’t think they’d object to a nice hardcover copy of the latest edition. Do you?”

Thenvunin wavers a little.

“A book isn’t enough,” he finally decides.

Aelynthi shrugs.

“So we’ll get more things,” he reasons. “What’s better, a whole bunch of little gifts that will probably be things they like, or one big gift that could go either way?”

…Well when he puts it like  _that._

Thenvunin supposes that’s a decent idea. And if he gets a lot of things, then it can almost be like he’s making up for neglecting them before. He nods, a bit, and Aelynthi claps him on the shoulder as he takes deep breaths. They make their way to the exterior entrance of the book store, then, and the familiar scent of print and paper helps calm his nerves a little bit more.

They end finding the full series in hardcovers for under a hundred dollars, but it still doesn’t feel like enough, really. Aelynthi goes with him out into the wider shopping center, and they look at some jewellery. Rings and necklaces and bracelets and earrings. Thenvunin’s sure Uthvir’s ears aren’t pierced, at least. None of the jewellery feels right, though. He’s never really seen Uthvir wear any, he realizes, so imagining them putting some on just because he bought it for them feels… presumptuous, almost. Or coercive.

Aelynthi ends up buying a set of nail decorations for his nanae, though. So at least that leg of the trip isn’t a total waste.

Next to the jewellery store is a knife shop. Thenvunin pauses, and considers the blades resting in the window. As elegantly displayed as the necklaces next door, really. Aelynthi drags him in before he had much time to rethink it, and the shop owner is happy to help him procure a very sharp, very pretty hunting knife.

He doesn’t know if it’s actually any good, but it  _looks_  nice, and shiny. And he supposes that Uthvir would probably at least like having a decorative knife, even if they couldn’t actually use it for anything.

“Is it too weird?” he wonders, once they’ve left the knife shop.

“No,” Aelynthi assures him. “I bought Victory a knife once.”

Oh.

Well it’s probably normal, then.

They do swing by some clothing shops, but Thenvunin has to stop himself from getting distracted by things that would be for him and not Uthvir. There isn’t really much that would be suitable for them. He contemplates a snakeskin wallet that’s got studs along the edges, but Uthvir’s wallet is actually really, really nice, so he puts it aside with a sigh. Aelynthi urges him towards the electronics store, and after some searching manages to dig up a set of headphones with wing decorations carefully etched onto the earbuds. Thenvunin also finds a copy of the Director’s Cut of one of Uthvir’s favourite movies. He dimly recalls them streaming it both times they watched it with him, so he adds it into the pile. And then he finds out from the sales assistant that they make custom laptop covers in, like, thirty minutes, and spends nearly that time twice over carefully designing a deep red one with wing silhouettes on it.

“There,” Aelynthi declares. “That should be enough, right?”

Thenvunin hesitates.

His friend bumps his shoulder, lightly.

“ _Thenvunin_ ,” he says. “You’re never going to give them a gift that encapsulates the whole of what they mean to you.”

Thenvunin blinks, and frowns down at his boots.

“I know,” he says. “I just…”

It’s difficult to articulate the problem, really. He’s not even sure if there  _is_  a problem.  Aelynthi sighs, and then shrugs.

“Let’s get some lunch,” he suggests, checking his phone. “Maybe inspiration will strike over samosas and fries.”

It doesn’t. Not really. But it’s a nice lunch, all the same. Thenvunin can’t remember the last time he and Aelynthi just did something together. It’s strange when he thinks of how much of their childhood they spent doing  _everything_  together. And it makes him a little wistful, even. He’s got Aelynthi’s Wintersend gift squared away. A fancy new writing set, with peacock-themed pens and some elegant, matching stationary. He’d been feeling really nostalgic when he bought it, too, flashing back to when they were much younger and Aelynthi had given him a jumbo crayon box set and colouring books.

…Oh.

The thought only comes to Thenvunin after they’ve finished, and as they’re heading through the parking lot again.

Maybe… that’s it? He’s never really had very many friends. Not before college, anyway. Most of the gifts he gives people tend to be either casual, for acquaintances, or meaningful. Something tied in with how he knows them.

But how could he translate that into something for…?

He grabs Aelynthi’s arm, smacking at his jacket in excitement.

“We need to go to the specialty pet store up near the highway,” he says, hastily putting their purchases into the backseat, and then making his way over to the driver’s side.

Aelynthi raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t object as he slides into the passenger seat.

“I’m not sure a pet would be the best idea for Uthvir,” he says. “Especially if they don’t know about it.”

“I’m not getting them a pet,” Thenvunin declares.

That pet store has the best bird care stock in town, though. Including synthetic preen oil with magical additives, and other treatments for wings. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel a little bit, and has to stop himself from thinking too much about running his fingers through Uthvir’s feathers. Making them all soft. Drawing little sighs and short gasps from them, as they lean into him. Arching into his touch…

Aelynthi quirks an eyebrow at him.

“If you’re buying a collar and leash, I’m waiting in the car,” he warns.

Thenvunin sniffs.

“Where would you even get that idea, bro? This is for Uthvir, not Flower,” he says, and dutifully ignores any sidelong glances he gets as they pull out of the parking lot.

By the time they’re driving back to the house, though, Thenvunin finally feels like he might qualify as a decent boyfriend after all.

 

~

 

Dirthamen is fairly neutral on the subject of formal wear, when it comes to it.

His preference is mostly for comfortable fabrics. Things that will not distract him unduly, or chafe, or irritate his skin, or catch on his nails. Which is especially unpleasant. But in terms of style, or cut, he is not exceptionally particular. He prefers not to bare much skin in Ferelden, but that’s largely because the weather is cold and often rainy, and the moisture in the air is unpleasant.

The fabric of his latest outfit is fine. It is enchanted material, exceedingly smooth and liquid-like. His mother commissioned the piece. Just as she commissioned everyone’s outfits for this event; Flemeth’s third wedding, he believes. This time to a Fereldan man, with the ceremony taking place in a Denerim chantry.

Dirthamen is surprised that anyone with Andrastrian beliefs would consent to marry his mother’s most terrifying business partner. But he does not have much information on the matter, currently. And he supposes it is not his business, in the end. He is only attending at his mother’s insistence, and because the proximity of the venue to campus means he cannot manufacture a reasonable excuse to avoid the matter.

So.

This is how he finds himself standing in his room, trying on his outfit for the wedding and discovering that though the material of the gown is suitable, and the fit is exemplary, he cannot reach the zipper on the back to save his life. His magic slides off of it, skirting around the fabric’s enchantments, and anything more potent my risk damaging the outfit. He gives up a moment, assessing his reflection. The dark blue fabric of the skirt falls from his hips, turning to inky black within the folds of the fabric, and rippling gently with his every move. The bodice is meant to be tight, he believes, with the silvery patterns emphasizing the lines of his torso. The sleeves cling like a second skin to his arms, before tapering off into silvery points on the backs of his palms.

He has some jewellery that will pair adequately with it, he thinks. He just needs to make certain the zipper will close. Someone in the House may be able to help with that. He reaches behind himself to hole the gown closed as he ventures out of his room, and barely gets down the hall before he comes up short.

Selene is standing there.

Dirthamen reviews his mental schedule, and at once recalls that they had moved one of their informal study sessions to this date. Selene is staring at him in wide-eyed surprise, and he wonders for a moment if he has committed a social faux pas by seeming to over-dress. Though he thinks she looks more than comparably lovely in her jeans and blue t-shirt.

“Selene,” he greets. “My apologies. I was just trying this gown on for a function I have to attend; my mother’s business partner’s wedding. It is not liable to be a pleasant experience, or else I would have invited you to come.”

Selene stares.

Dirthamen hesitates, and then turns, slightly.

“I was having trouble with the zipper. Could you help me, perhaps…?”

There is a pause.

He is just about to look back, and offer his apologies for whatever further issue he may have caused, when he hears Selene’s steps moving. Her fingers barely touch him as she reaches for the base of the gown, and he obligingly straightens as she slides the zipper up into place. It does not have terribly far to go, at least. Much of his back is left on display by the curve of the fabric.

“Thank you,” he says, and presses his hands to it, straightening out the material. He turns.

Selene’s face is very red.

Her gaze drifts over him, as she hastily takes a step back.

“You look very dress,” she tells him. “I mean, your dress looks very nice!”

“Thank you,” he repeats. “I am sorry if it is inappropriate…”

Selene blinks, and looks up at his face. She waves, and then shakes her head.

“No, of course not! You should obviously try it on before you have to wear it. I mean, what if it didn’t fit? You’d need to know. Not that it doesn’t fit. Because it does. Obviously.”

It does fit, Dirthamen agrees. He moves his arms and turns around to test it. Selene makes a sound, or he thinks she does. But when he looks over at her she is staring at the wall, instead.

“I have to go,” she says, at once.

Dirthamen’s heart sinks.

“I can take it off now, if that would-“

He cuts off as Selene’s shirt catches on fire.

After a few moments, he determines that this is not an intentional move on Selene’s part, as her face darkens further and she bats at the hem, and the blue fabric is aggressively swallowed by magically summoned flames. He moves to help. The shirt is thin and fairly flimsy, however, and is consumed more rapidly than his extinguishing spell can account for.

Much of it is gone by the time the fire is quenched. Some of Selene’s hair has come out of her ponytail, but she has not suffered any burns.

She is wearing a green bra.

…It suits her.

They are standing fairly close, now. Her hands are on his chest. Pressing the slippery fabric of his gown against him. The garment doesn’t seem to have sustained any damage, which is good, an unsurprising given its make and magic.

For a few minutes they simply stand there, as the ashes of Selene’s shirt collar fall down from her neck. Her eyes are bright and her mouth is slightly parted, voice caught, it seems. His arms are resting around her in turn, he realizes. Fingers still tingling with the magic of the suppression spell.

“…Would you like to borrow a shirt?” Dirthamen offers, at length.

Selene licks her lips, and swallows.

“Yes,” she says.

He considers. She was wearing blue. He has a blue shirt. It is slightly worn, and over-sized, and he normally sleeps in it. But it is not inherently a shirt for sleeping in, and should suffice as a replacement. He is not certain why Selene accidentally burnt her own. But perhaps it would impolite to ask.

“I should change,” he reminds himself. Because he would also like to kiss her, but that would probably be inappropriate. As are his thoughts of what might happen after that. If her hands should move across his body, and trail the fabric of the gown over his skin. Caressing, and arousing, and teasing…

Selene nods.

“Okay,” she agrees.

At which point Flower comes bounding down the hall, tail waggling and paws skidding across the floor, barking her happy greeting bark as she realizes that Selene is here. The moment is broken. Dirthamen moves back to ensure that his gown is not damaged by eager puppy paws, and Selene startles as if from a mild daze, and then bends over to pick the puppy up, and receive frantic, wiggling kisses to her face.

“Yes, hello, I  _did_  see you yesterday, you know,” she says fondly, and then winces as Flower steps onto some of the bared skin of her breast.

Shirts.

Yes.

Dirthamen will go do that now.

He turns and glides pointedly back into his room, and tries not to think of… things.

 

~

 

Today’s the day.  
She can do this. Really. Just, be casual.  
’ _Ask him to dinner. You’ll have all session to build up to it. You budgeted for it. It’s fine._ ’

  
Selene lets herself into the house, waving to a sprawled out Vena watching a movie from the couch. Making her way up the stairs, she heads towards Dirthamens room, still mentally psyching herself up.

  
It’s fine. They’re casual. Good friends, even. It’s ridiculous to be this nervous, she knows. She  _knows_  he’s interested in a romantic relationship. He’s probably not going to reject her, she just has to get past her own hang ups about relationships and-  
  


Oh. Oh no.

  
Selene’s mouth goes dry as she watches Dirthamen striding down the hall. Towards her. Wearing a gown that makes the ones in Serahlins magazines look like something from a clearance rack. Dirthamen himself puts any models she’s seen to shame.  
The dress clings to him in all the best ways, tapering out from his waist like a vision Des might have whipped up for her. Des doesn’t have the sense of style to make something this lovely, though. Even his impression of Dirthamen is still off, and she has a feeling she is going to be very grateful for that in the coming nights.  
  


Oh no, he’s speaking.  
Now he’s turning, and oh, that’s…that’s a lot of skin. Not like she hasn’t seen him shirtless already, of course, but somehow this seems different. More trusting. More intimate.

“…help me, perhaps?” snaps her out of her head as she realizes he wants her to pull up his zipper. The one resting just above the curve of his ass.  
 _This is fine_ , she tries to convince herself. They’re friends. She’s helped Serahlin and Ana into their dresses before. This is the same thing.  
Except that it’s not, and she knows it.  
  


Still, Dirthamen has been so good about respecting her and her boundaries. The least she can do is give him the same.  
Stepping closer, Selene slowly pulls the zipper up, desperately trying to drown out the sensation of butterflies in her stomach by counting in her head. She counts louder, fighting against her instincts to keep moving her fingers up when they graze against the skin of his back.  
  


That is still a lot of skin left exposed, though. Selene wonders who else might be attending the event, but promptly squashes the bit of jealousy that shoots up through her. She turned him down. Dirthamen could take a proper date to the event, even, and Selene would have no right to say anything other than perhaps ‘congratulations’. She thinks she’d very much enjoy spending a day with him in that outfit, though.  
  


“You look very dress,” she manages, wincing internally when she hears herself. “I mean, your dress looks very nice!”   
Not her best save, but he seems to accept it. Dirthamen thanks her, and apologizes for his outfit.  
  


Selene’s word vomit instincts take over, so she is only midly aware of what she is actually saying, but all she thinks is ’ _please don’t apologize for wearing that. Wear it always. Do you have another? I’d love to help you take this one off to try it on._ ’  
Then he turns again, and he’s so graceful with his arms flowing out Selene debates asking Aelynthi for life drawing tips because damned if she doesn’t want to capture an image of him like this to keep for herself.  
  


She should say something. Give him a real compliment.  _Communication is key_ , she remembers. Just  _tell_  him.  
But then his arm moves in a way that makes the fabric brush  _just so_ over him, and she thinks she might have actually let out a whimper, and that is more mortification than she can handle today, really, so she averts her gaze to the wall instead. Safer.  
  


“I have to go,” she blurts, as she can feel her body temperature rising and her heartbeat increasing. She doesn’t want to set him on fire after all, so it’s better for everyone if she just removes herself from the situation.  
Of course, then Dirthamen mentions taking it off and her mind blanks at  _that_  mental image. That material sliding down and off of him, slowly. Down his arms, and his chest, and ultimately falling into a pile of material at his feet, and she knows it is too late.  
  


’ _Oh, my shirt’s on fire._ ’  
She liked this one, too. She bats at the flames, trying to save the fabric, but it’s too late to save it as it burns away against her skin.

His arms are around her now, though, and she can feel the telling tingle of his magic against her own bared back. She’s not sure when her traitorous hands moved to his chest, but she doesn’t feel any inclination to move them, either. Doesn’t trust herself to. The material feels wonderful against her fingers, a barrier between her skin and his.  
  


’ _This could be it,_ ’ she thinks. ’ _Tell him. He’s so close. Just **tell him.**_ ’  
Still the words won’t come. He is so near if she just leaned a bit closer she could kiss him, and she wants to, she  _wants_  to, but giving in to her want is a dangerous thing. She knows.  
But his arms are still around her, and her shirt has turned to ash and she should feel trapped, exposed, terrified. But she doesn’t. She feels safe, and close, and warm in a very good way, and she wonders if perhaps this is what it is  _supposed_  to be like.  
  


“…Would you like to borrow a shirt?” he asks.  
Selene wants to tell him no, wants to take him back to his room and make sure that gown fits him no matter what, and fluster him the way he has so effortlessly flustered her just by existing, it seems. She licks her lips and swallows.  
“Yes,” she says instead.  
‘ _Coward_ ’  
  


Neither of them move. His arms are still against her and her hands are still on his chest, and his magic is still caressing unconsciously against her waist as she feels the enchantments in his gown reacting slightly to her touch. If she moves now, she is going to do something inappropriate. She’s going to kiss him, and find out what his tongue is like and get him out of that gown and perhaps if he was under her she might not panic so much-  
  


“I should change.” he mentions.  
She nods, because he should. That would be the smart thing, and he’s always so smart, and she would very much like to help him peel his gown off and maybe not immediately put something else on.  
  


“Okay.” she manages, because that is still the safest thing, but her hand stops its path down his chest when she hears paws clacking against the floor.  
  


Flower.  
Right, they’re still in the hallway.

She lets out a breath, and reminds herself they are friends. Platonic. Dirthamen steps back, and Selene bends down to retrieve Flower. He retreats down the hall, and back into his room.  
  


Once his door has closed, and Selene is confident he is out of earshot, she sighs and rubs behind Flowers ear.   
“I don’t know whether to thank you, or blame you right now.”  
Flower merely barks in response, and wags her tail some more before Selene places her down on the floor and she runs off to find someone else to play with.   
She knocks on Dirthamens door, and enters when he calls for her. He’s hanging the gown, and has changed into more casual pants. No shirt yet, but he tosses one gently towards her. It is large, and blue, and she stares at it in confusion for a moment before realizing it’s meant for her.  
Because she’s still in her bra.  
Well, at least this one doesn’t have holes.  
“You didn’t have to give me the shirt off your back you know,” she teases, attempting to diffuse the situation.  
“I did not. I was not wearing a shirt previously,” he responds warily.  
“No, it’s just a-nevermind. Thank you. Sorry for the trouble,” she offers as she slips it on. It’s soft, and comfortable.  
“It is no trouble,” he answers as he slips another shirt onto himself.  
  


The study session passes uneventfully after that, aside from the occassional distracted glances between them. Tonight is one of their last, she knows. The quarter is ending, and Wintersend is coming.  
She doesn’t ask him to dinner, though. Someone in the house orders pizzas, and they split a few pieces over their notes instead.  
It’s nice, and very casual.  
  


After getting home, Selene falls asleep in his shirt. It’s warm now, like his touch earlier, and if she closes her eyes she feels like he might still be around.  
She sleeps more soundly than she has in weeks.

 

~

 

This is inappropriate, Dirthamen thinks.

Or… maybe not?

He isn’t so sure anymore. But he can’t seem to help himself, tonight, as he slides a hand down into the front of his pants. Thinking about Selene’s own hands on him. Brushing across the bared skin of his chest;  _lifting_  him up, and pressing him close. Her thighs… her lips…

He thinks about kissing her again. Thinks about her fingers opening the front of his fly, and lets himself imagine that it is her hand, and not his own, that closes around him. Her touch. Warming, warmer by far than his own right now. Not unpleasant, though. Fingers like brands moving over him. He brushes his touch slowly up and down himself, and bites his lip.

She had been aroused by his gown, had she not?

What had appealed to her about it, he wonders? The material? The cut? Both? Such outfits are  _meant_  to be appealing, he supposes…

He swallows, and moves his hand a little more firmly, and permits himself to imagine wearing it for her again. Dancing with her, as he has been practicing. Her hands closing over him, warm and tingling against the fabric’s enchantments as she pulls him close, and presses her lips to his own. And slides her hands down and down towards his backside. Her own body clad in similar fabrics. Dark and shimmering, soft in contrast to the sharp curve of her cheekbones; the pale strands of her hair. The thought of dancing devolves into the thought of simply touching. Caressing. Moving his hands over the soft flesh of her breasts again. Pressing his lips to the points of her ears.

His breath hitches, and he stills his own movements for a moment to rearrange himself.

Would her lips be as warm as her fingers, if he kissed her now?

He’s surprised when he comes. An unexpected rush, as he works his hand; easier and more intense than it usually is, when he indulges in this activity. His fingers tremble, and the pleasure bursts through him, making him squirm a little.

_Selene._

He swallows, and wonders if it is normal to feel like a struck match after all this.

 

~

 

Selene is wearing the shirt which Dirthamen loaned her.

He does not realize it, at first. It is Thursday night, but a new movie was recently released in theatres, and so much of the House opted to go and see it rather than remain home. Aelynthi and Dirthamen are the only ones to have declined; Aelynthi citing a phone call from Victory, and Dirthamen because he had invited Selene over to watch television with everyone, and did not have time to change the schedule to accommodate the difference.

Still, Flower is also remaining within the residence. So that is almost three people,  aside from Selene, Dirthamen thinks. He puts in the DVD for the show – a cartoon with some very interesting themes – and goes to acquire the refreshments. Someone has consumed the strawberry tarts he purchased, to his dismay. But the popcorn, candies, and toasted almonds are all still available, so he takes those, and Aelynthi offers to make ‘fifteen minute cookies’, which turn out delicious-smelling around the time that Selene arrives.

They settle in to watch television, and discuss prospect for Wintersend. Flower begs kisses and pets off of Selene, and attempts to set up residency in her lap, and Aelynthi leaves after twenty minutes for his phone call.

That is when Dirthamen notices that Selene is wearing the shirt he loaned her.

The soft, worn fabric hands loosely over the tighter line of her pants. It suits her, he thinks. There is a pleasant contrast in the sharpness of her features, and the long stretch of her legs, and the comforting billow of the shirt. One of her bra straps is just barely visible at the edge of the shirt’s collar. The faded  _Magi-Tech Institute_  letters are barely visible, after so many improper washings.

Dirthamen did not understand laundry machines for… quite some time.

He is still not entirely certain he grasps their eldritch machinations. Despite his best efforts, it seems he is always using the wrong detergent, mixing improper articles, and summoning demons to steal small articles of clothing at random intervals. No matter how thoroughly he scours their recesses, the machines always seem to claim at least one sock.

They also claimed the letters on this shirt. Which Selene is wearing, and which his imagination keeps insisting still smells faintly of his own detergent.

If she is wearing it, he wonders, does this mean she intends to keep it? Does she like it? The thought that she might enjoy wearing his clothes is oddly pleasing. He wonders if it ties in with hindbrain impulses in regards to scent and intimacy. Is he indulging in possessive impulses? Those could be toxic.

He is staring, he thinks. He drags his gaze up from the shirt to see that Selene is looking back at him. And there is something odd in her gaze. He cannot place it. It is, perhaps, a steeliness. Anger? No, he does not think she is angry. She tucks her legs up closer to herself, and he stills as she reaches out a hand and brushes a lock of hair to the side of his forehead.

She leans towards him, and licks her lips. Dirthamen stares at the pink skin of her tongue, and has to resist the odd impulse to mirror the gesture. He swallows, instead, and looks at her eyes.

“Selene?” he asks.

She wavers. And then she lets out a long breath, and tips forward, and rests her head against his shoulder.

Ah.

Cuddle Thursdays.

Dirthamen has been negligent, he thinks. Or rather, over-cautious, in his attempts to avoid stepping on her boundaries. He carefully arranges his own arms around her, and embraces her in return.

“Would you like a shoulder rub?” he offers.

There is a strange, dull thumping sound. He glances in the direction of the source, and sees Aelynthi gently banging his head against the hallway wall. His conversation with Victory must not have gone well, Dirthamen thinks. Perhaps he should offer a consoling shoulder to him in return, but his fraternity brother seems disinclined to approach; and he finds he is loathe to break away from Selene.

Who declines the shoulder rub. But after a few minutes, she settles more comfortably against him. Dirthamen draws up one of the soft blankets, and starts the next episode of their show, and makes certain to keep his hands in appropriate places as Selene snuggles into his embrace. Pleasantly warm and relaxed.

“I like this,” she says, after a few minutes. “This is nice.”

“I find it pleasant also,” Dirthamen agrees.

 

~

 

When Selene does not arrive for their study session on time, Dirthamen tries sending her a text.

 

 

–>  _Are we studying today?_  
  


He knows that there was supposed to be one today. He had purchased several snacks that were small and easy to consume one handed that he believed she would like, as well as an entire gallon of a sweet tea he had noted she enjoyed in the past. 

Several minutes pass, as he waits for her reply. He wonders on what the social conventions are and how long one is supposed to wait before sending a follow up message. A half hour passes, before he goes downstairs to ask.

  
Adannar and Vena are on the couch, so he posits his question to the pair.  
Vena believes that it is acceptable to continuously send streams of emojis to people until they are forced to respond, so Dirthamen does not listen much to his advice on this subject. Adannar informs him that Selene had not responded to his own texts that day however, which is curious. She should have left work over an hour ago now, which is well past her usual window for such things.  
  


He hesitates briefly, before tossing on his coat and driving to Selenes building.  
  


The door is unlocked when he attempts to turn the knob.  
He calls out for her, but does not get a response. Venturing inside, he does not see anything out of place, until he glances towards her bed. There is a spilled bottle of water on her night stand, and a large lump underneath her blanket.  
Carefully, he moves towards the bed, hand hovering over what he assumes is her.

“Selene?” he asks.

The pile shifts slightly, and the blankets are pulled downward until the top of Selenes face is visible.  
“hrmm?” she grunts, before beginning a fitful cough into her fist.

Dirthamens first instinct is to reach out for her, but perhaps that would be too bold, given her reservations about touch.  
  


“What happened?” he asks instead.  
  


Selene coughs a few more times, and struggles until she is sitting up. She looks over at him, but her eyes aren’t focusing. “Small group. Smite. M'fine.” she mumbles, reaching for her already knocked over bottle of water.  
Dirthamen attempts to decipher her words “You were hit with a smite? By who?”

“Templar, a'guess,” she coughs.  
  


This is an issue, he thinks. It is one thing if the supporters on campus are limited to standard weaponry. If there are actual templar abilities floating around, that is a larger problem. An easier one to track though, he thinks. He will have to ask his sister if she knows who is dealing out lyrium amongst the students.

  
Still. It should not have made Selene this ill. Though perhaps it would be rude to ask further questions in her current condition.

  
Warm beverages are supposed to help with sickness, he is fairly sure.  
“Wait here,” he instructs, making his way into the kitchen and boiling some water in a pot while he scours for an appropriate tea.

  
Selene doesn’t argue as she slouches back into bed. 

She dozes off again while he debates alerting someone else. There are the family doctors, of course, but his Mother will undoubtedly ask if he requests a house call. Selene is normally the person the group calls when someone is sick or injured. Aelynthi, might know how to reduce the effects of a smite. Perhaps Ana would know how to pick out what ingredients Selene has that could help given her affinity for plants. 

He texts them both and requests their presence. Aelynthi informs him that they do not know how to cure a smite with anything other than time, but he will look into the attack if Dirthamen is able to provide any further information. Ana shows up around the time the tea finishes brewing, with a few books and herbal cures of her own in tow.  
  


Selene sits up when Ana places her hand on her forehead, offering a weak smile “It’s Ana! Hey Ana. You’re nice. I like your hair. And your freckles. And your eyes.”  
  


Ana sighs “You’re delirious Lay down.”  
  


“I am not a deli mouse,” Selene argues, even as Ana gently pushes her into a reclining position “M'not a mouse,” she grumbles halfheartedly while Ana tries to get her to drink down a spoonful of medicine.  
  


Selene sticks her tongue out instead of taking it.  
  


“M'fine.” she argues again while Ana tries to force the spoon into her mouth. Selene makes a face when she gets it in,  clearly displeased with the taste. 

Dirthamen takes the moment to offer her the tea, which she takes happily, and offers him a very bright sort of smile.  
  


“See Ana? Dirthamen has better bedside manner. He’s so nice. And kind. And pretty. And his hair does that floof thing, too. Did you know he can play piano? S'not fair.”  
  


Ana just nods along “You know he’s right here, right?”  
  


“S'fine,” Selene says with a sigh “S'never real anyways.”  
  


Ana and Dirthamen both share a confused look about that particular comment, and Dirthamen makes a mental note to ask when she is in a better state.  
  


Ana looks to Dirthamen while Selene drinks her tea “So a smite did this? I didn’t know it could make mages sick.”  
“Normally they do not,” he explains. Perhaps it was a botched version of the spell? He is about to state his theory, but Selene interrupts  
“I was sick first,” she grumbles “Got sent home early, some sparks shot off of me on my way back because I was daydreaming, and it probably made me a target. Next thing I saw was the ground, and I couldn’t reach my magic anymore.”  
“You did not call someone immediately?” Dirthamen frowns, radiating disapproval.   
Selene just shrugs “Could still walk. The quiet was nice, and sleeping became easy, so I just came home to rest it off.” her brows furrow then “Wait, you can’t be here.”  
  


Ana peeks out then from where she had been digging through Selenes medicine cabinet “We’re both here for you Selene. You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”  
“No, I mean…” Selene trails off, examining Dirthamen carefully before she reaches out and attempts to poke him. He allows it, blinking curiously at her “What are you attempting to accomplish?”  
  


Her eyes widen, and her face turns a deep red.  
“Uh. Nothing. I’m just-fever dream,” she attempts to explain before burrowing further under her blanket.  
  


Curious.  
  


“M'just gonna. Sleep some more I think,” she mutters.  Dirthamen also believes this would be a good idea, and goes to assist Ana in her search for an adequate medicine.  
  


She leaves after giving Dirthamen a few instructions as to ‘dos and donts’ with Selene, in her current state. He waits with her, to ensure that she makes a recovery, shooting a few more texts off to Aelynthi with the new information, and to Adannar to inform him as to why Selene did not respond to his earlier texts. He receives mostly well wishes for her recovery back.  
  


After a few hours, Selene peeks out from her blanket and gazes blearily towards Dirthamen, who had been reading through one of her book recommendations Her hand sneaks out from her cover towards him. He moves towards her, in case she needs something, and is caught off guard when her hand wraps around his own. He blinks as she tugs him towards her, without any real force.   
  


If she is not opposed to it, this should be alright he believes. He will simply have to apologize if she regrets it later.  
  


He moves to sit on the ground beside her bed, and she readjusts their hands until her fingers are laced through his. She nods approvingly at the sight, before sleep claims her once more.

  
He supposes there are certainly worse ways to pass an evening.

 

~

 

Selene is staring at her phone, pen tapping restlessly against her chin. Maybe she should cancel their session. It’s practically finals already. Dirthamen is probably busy with his own studies. Her grade is high enough now that she doesn’t need the extra help anymore. There’s no real need to take up his time with her study sessions.

 

It’s selfish, is what it is.

 

’ _You’re making excuses_ ,’ Des hums. ’ _You can spend time with him for the sake of enjoying his company, you know. You just have to **let** yourself._’  
  


‘I set my shirt on fire the last time I was alone with him. Hanging out casually may not be an option anymore.’  
  


’ _So? Isn’t there some saying about getting back on a hart after you’ve fallen off? Just get back on. Ride him into the sunset.  He’ll like it, really. Just do it like this,_ ’ Des smirks, summoning up a very explicitly clear image of her doing precisely that to a very responsive approximation of Dirthamen.

The pen in her hand promptly bursts into flames..  
  


“Dammit Des-” she mutters as she jumps up to run it under the sink.  There is a brief knock on the door, before Dirthamen lets himself in.  
“Good evening, Selene,” he greets, staring curiously at the half melted pen being held under the running water. “…May I inquire as to what you are trying to accomplish?”  
Selene gives him a sheepish grin “Just another fire mishap.”  
“I see. Is this a common issue?”  
“It didn’t use to be,” she mumbles.  
He nods still, without judgement, which she is always grateful for.  
  


“Did you not have sufficient magic training in the past?” he asks.  
Selene frowns. She knows he doesn’t mean any offense by it, and it is not as though she is particularly proud of her clan, but after seeing the general disrespectful attitude towards Dalish magic and teachings, she’s become defensive of the matter. “My magic training was fine. I just specialized in healing, so that was where the bulk of my instructions were focused. Aggressive magic wasn’t where I fit.”  
“You seem to have quite the affinity for it, given your claims that the art does not suit you. Although your healing abilities are also exemplary from what I have seen and heard of them.”  
“Thanks, I guess?” she allows “It’s not normally an issue, anyways. Things only catch fire in…certain situations. It’s fine, really.”  
  


Dirthamen’s face takes on a definite look of concern. “Perhaps with the rising templar-supporters tensions on camps, it would be helpful to learn how to manage such outbursts? I would be willing to assist, if you are amenable.”

This is a bad idea.  
’ _This is the **best**  idea_.’ Des counters.  
  


“That’s very sweet of you,” Selene begins “But I think maybe Uthvir or Aelynthi might be more appropriate to help me with this particular issue.”  
Dirthamen looks dejected, now, and his fingers twitch at his sides before he speaks again.   
“I know that I am lacking in many areas, but I assure you that my magical knowledge is vast. I would also very much like to help you, if that would not be too unpleasant for you. I enjoy spending time with you, and would take great pleasure in being permitted to assist wherever I am able. Please.”

Selene shifts back and forth on her feet and bites down on her lower lip, deliberating. How is she supposed to turn him down again after that? It’s not his fault he seems to be the on switch for her sex drive. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose.  
Probably.

  
“I…alright. Thank you, then. Do you-I mean I actually feel confident in the subjects we’ve been studying together thanks to your help, so. I don’t know. Maybe we could do a little spellwork now, if you’re up for it? We don’t have to, of course. I don’t know if you have everything you need, and it’s fine to say no if you just don’t want to.”  
“I do not see any reason why we could not begin now,” he answers.

  
The two of them clear out most of her floorspace, piling smaller items onto her bed, and pushing the furniture against the walls or into the kitchen. Dirthamen even lays out wards to keep her from  alerting her neighbors, or potentially lighting anything on fire by accident.   
  


He nods confidently at his work when he is finished, steps into the circle, and holds out his hand for Selene. She swallows and takes it, joining him inside the wards.  
  


“Do you know what is causing the outbursts?” Dirthamen asks  
“Yes.” Selene answers.  
He is silent then, waiting for her to elaborate.

She does not.

“Very well,” he continues after a few minutes “The most effective way I have found, is to recreate the emotion or situation that triggers the outburst. This will assist you in handling it when the situation occurs naturally.”  
  


Selene groans internally over Des’s snickering.  
  


“This is a bad idea.” Selene attempts once more. But Dirthamen seems determined to help now. Confident that he can assist her in some way, and genuinely glad to be given the opportunity. Selene is reluctant to take that away from him.  
“I would like to assist you with recreating the context for the fluctuations, if you will permit it. However, if it makes you too uncomfortable, we can stop at any time.” He says, and they both allow that to hang in the air between them for several minutes more, before Selene cracks.  
She lets out a heavy sigh “Things catch fire when I’m aroused.” she mumbles out loud.

 

Dirthamen blinks once. Twice. Three times.   
“Pardon?” he stammers.  
  


Selene buries her face into her hands and shakes her head “When I get turned on, things combust,” she repeats.  
  


She can’t quite see his face, but she can practically hear his eyebrows knitting together in confusion  "But your shirt caught fire when we were merely conversing in the house before.“  
“When you were wearing that gown?” Selene points out from behind her fingers.  
“…oh.” he breathes.  
  


She lifts her head from her hands, noting the pink dusting over his cheeks and shuffles awkwardly. “Like I said, we don’t have to do this,” she offers again.   
Things are different when someone looks at you sexually, and Selene knows and understands that it makes lots of people uncomfortable to be near someone with that perspective, especially in these sorts of situations. His comfort matters too, and she wants to make sure he knows that.  
  


“I do not have any qualms so long as you are still willing to continue,” he answers.  
Selene nods, and they stare at each other for another few moments. 

Dirthamen clears his throat and takes a step closer to her. “I suppose then, that we should…or perhaps I should…that is…”  
Selene waits patiently, while Dirthamen decides on what he feels is the proper way to phrase his thoughts.  
“What turns you on?” he finally settles for, his face almost entirely red now.  
’ _Oh, I have a list! Lucky for loverboy he’s at the top, hm?’_  Des chimes in, and Selene tries not to outwardly react to him.  
“You?” she chirps quietly, offhandedly impressed that the wards have kept her clothes and the carpets from combusting so far.  
“I see.” he returns, turning yet a deeper shade of red. He pauses, and adds a polite “Thank you.”  
  


Selene chuckles awkwardly “This is weird, right? I should- someone else could- It’s really not that big a deal, we don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”  
“I would feel guilty if you lost more of your wardrobe due to my…due to me. I would still like to assist you, if you will still permit it. The ‘weird’-ness is not entirely unpleasant to me, if it is not too bold to say.”  
  


Selene licks her lips and smiles weakly. She steps closer to Dirthamen at his reassurances. Taking a deep breath, she moves one of his hands carefully up to her side. He takes over then, drifting his hand slowly down her stomach and over her hip, watching carefully for her reactions.  
  


“Is this alright?” He checks as his hand ventures to the small of her back.   
Selene nods again, not trusting her tongue. Dirthamen’s other hand comes up, brushing an errant strand of hair carefully behind her ear. She gulps when he traces the shell of it slowly with his finger, as her own begin to smoke. He stops, and pulls her hand up between them,  where they can better view her fingers.  
  


“Interesting,” he notes. “May I?”  
She nods yet again, not sure what he’s planning, but trusting him.  
His own magic rises, and swirls around her. Selene’s breath catches in her throat at the sensation, and how different it seems now from her previous experiences with it. It had been more reminiscent of a shield in the past, between her and Haleir, her fire and her clothes.   
This is more intimate. Exploratory. Exciting.  
  


Her fingers light up like lit candles, and Dirthamen wraps his spells around and through them. It makes her shiver, his ice against her fire, and the intensity with which he is focused on her hands.  
“It does not hurt?” he checks.  
“No,” she answers with a small shake of her head “My own fire doesn’t burn me. Just things around or near me.”  
  


He hums his affirmation “May I continue?”  
“Yes.”  
  


One of his hands moves back to her face, his eyes following as they trace the line of her jaw delicately. Reverently. She swallows, and her fingers twitch and cause his shirt to catch fire.  
  


“Ah-!” She cries, attempting to pat it out with her (still flaming) hands, but he casts a quick supression spell and manages to save most of his shirt, although the bottom is now very uneven, and burnt along the edges.  
  


“Sorry. I didn’t mean to-I can replace that.”  
Dirthamen considers for a moment before replying “I believe there is a simpler solution,” is all the warning Selene gets before he slips off his shirt and tosses it outside of the circle, then pulls one of her hands back to his chest.  
  


She recoils instinctively, scared of burning him as she looks up at him curiously. He is smiling,  _actually_  smiling as he speaks.  
“I trust you. You are kind. Even at your most uncontrolled, you would not hurt me, nor anyone, I believe, without just cause.”  
Selene hesitates, still concerned about harming him without meaning to. 

Dirthamen takes a small step forward though, closing off more of the remaining space between them. He releases her hand and wraps his arms loosely around her waist, Just enough for her to know where he is, not enough to make her feel trapped. His magic is still swirling around them, and sends a delicious tingle up her spine.  
  


Cautiously, she reaches for his chest on her own, and places her palm flat against his sternum. She can feel the fire, sees it dancing over her fingertips, even smells smoke. But his flesh doesn’t sear, doesn’t burn, doesn’t so much as redden. He just places one of his own hands over hers and nods approvingly.  
“Good. Focus on that. Think of it as a circuit, rather than an outlet,” he instructs. “If you do not give it an escape, you will be able to contain it.”   
  


She swallows, and tries to follow his instructions. The flames begin to dissipate, while her hand drifts slowly over his chest, and she tries not to focus on the shifting muscles under her touch. His breath catches when she trails a warm finger over his nipple and her head and eyes shoot up to meet his in alarm.  
  


Her heart is hammering in her ribcage, and he looks almost as flustered as she feels.  
  


“Are you alright? Is this still ok?”  
“Yes.” he answers without hesitation as he brings her other hand up to his mouth. His lips are soft against her finger tips, and for a moment she thinks it would be worth her entire apartment building burning down if she could just manage to kiss him again.  
  


“I…”  
She should ask him. Should tell him. Should  _do something_.  
He pauses, waiting for her to finish her thought.  
  


Selene swallows, and summons her nerve for a brief, glorious moment. “Please, don’t stop.”

 

Dirthamen’s eyes widen, and then the arm on her back pulls her fully flush against him. Starting slowly, he trails his kisses down her palm, over the back of her hand, and up her arm. Continues over her shoulder and up to her neck, and she is burning, she is going to turn to ash but all she can think is that it is entirely worth it. Her own arms wrap around his neck, and one hand tangles into his hair. It is soft, and thick, and someone moans but neither is sure who. It may have been both of them, but it doesn’t matter now.   
  


One of Dirthamen’s hands slides carefully under the hem of her shirt, making contact with the bare skin of her back. Selene arches into him at the touch, and it is definitely her moan this time as she nuzzles her face into where his neck and shoulder meet.  
“Dirthamen…” she groans, and his grip on her back tightens, his other hand drifting up her thigh until she wraps it around him. She can feel his growing erection clearly against her, and it shoots a bolt of something akin to lightning through her.

  
“Still trust me?” she asks. He nods, trailing his lips over her cheekbone, and she puts both legs firmly back on the ground, and lifts him. He makes a soft noise at the movement, but she lies him down gently in the circle, one leg on either side of him now while she straddles his lap. She is bent over him now, her hands on either side of his face and he looks momentarily stunned at the new position.   
  


“Are you still comfortable?” She checks, nervous that perhaps this will be too much, now.  
“Exceedingly so,,” he answers, putting her at ease as he cups her face, his other hand resting on her lower back.  
She lowers her upper body,  peppers him with kisses; his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, everywhere but his lips, and sighs in bliss while his hands trail over her body. Selene drifts her mouth down to his neck, softly biting and sucking at the curve, and taking immense pleasure in the noises he makes beneath her. Her hips roll against him and one of his hands grip at her ass tightly, so she does it again.

  
Nothing is igniting around her. It’s just her, she is fire and she trails it over him, warming without burning, his panting breath over her ear the fuel that keeps her going. His hand slides up her shirt, grazing her stomach, cold and soothing to her blazing heat and she shivers when he brushes his hands over her breasts.   
  


There is gentleness, and a quiet desperation to the moment from each of them, wanting this, needing this, needing each other, and his name spills from her lips as she rolls against him again and he arches towards her before her cell phone goes off.  
  


They both freeze as the moment is shattered by the pop song echoing around them. As though they have been caught doing something they should not have been.  
  


“Do you need to get that?” Dirthamen hesitates, eyes dilated, his usual blue swallowed almost entirely by his pupils.  
  


Selene knows it is just Adannars ringtone.   
Unfortunately, she does not know why he would be calling her this late in the evening. And with the recent events around campus, it could be an emergency.  
  


“…Probably.” she sighs, as she stands and steps away from Dirthamen. Des is screaming in her head to ignore the phone, this is literally WHY voicemail exists,  _get back over there and finish what you started dammit!  
_

Selene just slides her phone screen to 'answer’.  
  


“Hello?” she greets.  
“Sel! You gotta help me!” Adannars voice rings over the line.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Stoichiometry is kicking my ass, Sel. I’ve got the test for it tomorrow, and I just can’t get it. My notes don’t make sense anymore. Please, Sel, I’m begging ya, I need your help.”  
  


Selene rubs the bridge of her nose, and takes a deep breath while she closes her eyes and counts backwards.   
“Ok,” she relents “Give me like, half an hour to get over there?”  
“You’re the best, Sel!” Adannar proclaims, before she clicks off the phone.  
Dirthamen is already clearing away the wards, and moving things back to where they were earlier. Selene moves the furniture back into place and hands him back his shirt when they’re finished.

 

“I’m sorry,” they say in unison.  
Dirthamen blinks, and Selene bites her lip.  
“I was being inappropriate, I should apologize,” he insists, but Selene shakes her head.   
“No, I enjoyed it More than I should have. I’m sorry.”  
His eyebrows furrow and he is about to say something when Selene cuts him off.   
“Will you walk me to the house? Adannar’s struggling a little with his chemistry, and I told him I’d help him figure it out. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be, which would be completely understandable,” she stammers.  
Dirthamen shakes his head and holds out his arm for her.

Selene stares at it for a moment, and ultimately sticks one of her textbooks through it.

“Sorry,” she apologizes again “There’s no wards for this on the sidewalk, I’m pretty sure.”  
Dirthamen blushes, but nods. They walk in comfortable silence back to the frat house, and split apart once inside. Selene wanders towards Adannars room, and Dirthamen disappears into his own. 

Selene tries not to think too much about what he might be doing, now. Alone in his room.

  
Des really isn’t helping.

 

~

 

Adannar invites Serahlin for Cuddle Thursdays. 

It takes her a moment to process that. Cuddle Thursdays. It has a name. That thing she walked in on about a month ago has a name. It’s a regular thing, and nobody really talks about, but it’s definitely  _a thing_. 

She knows Adannar has been with mostly men, that he staunchly believed himself gay for the majority of high school until he met Mavani and Lionel. She knows that in ways, he still prefers men. But he has also assured her that he vastly prefers  _her_  over anyone else. 

So she shouldn’t be concerned…right?

The men of the house are beautiful, stunning works of art really. From Thenvunin’s broad shoulders to Aelynthi’s intense eyes to Vena’s thighs, they’re all so intensely  _beautiful_. And she knows that they all enjoy the company of other men. It is…concerning, but she doesn’t want to worry. 

But old habits die hard, and she does fret. She worries that one day he will see her for the cold bitch she is, and she worries that she actually  _is_  a cold bitch. She worries that Adannar will wake up and see Vena or Aelynthi or someone and think of how warm they are…and how she isn’t. 

She loves him. He did this to her. But she could have walked away from it, could have denied her heart to try again, could have cut herself off and refused to feel and to try again. 

But Adannar is so beautiful and sincere, and she doesn’t want to be cold, because she isn’t. She isn’t cold. She wants to be warm like him and so she threw herself into loving him. Because he is good, and she wants that good in her life. She wants to make him happy, wants to help make his world just a bit brighter. 

She loves him. 

She has nothing to worry about.

She stands on the stoop of the house and knocks. Aelynthi answers the door in a crop top and his hair loose.

“Hey Serahlin,” he says, letting her inside. She steps carefully in, very aware that she doesn’t look exactly like her normal self, in bright floral leggings and an over-sized button-up, hair in a messy side-pony tail, face sans makeup….

But Adannar is suddenly there, beaming at her, wrapping her in a tight hug and kissing her temple.

“There’s my beautiful love,” he whispers and some of her anxiety drifts away. She wraps her own arms around him and nuzzles into his chest.

“Mmm,” he’s shirtless and so warm. She wants to be warm. So warm. She wants him to chase all the coldness out of her heart and replace it with his love. 

Serahlin pulls back just enough to tug him down to press her lips to his. 

“I love you, too,” she whispers against him. She kicks the door close and she hears gagging noises coming from the couch. 

“’ _Oh Addy! I love you!’ ‘Oh Serahlin, I love you more!’ ‘No! That’s impossible!’ ‘Oh!’ ‘Oh!’”_ Vena makes fake kissing noises and rubbing at his own back.

“I see we’re twelve now,” Serahlin quips as she returns down from the tips of her toes. 

Adannar keeps her amazingly close to his body as he guides her to the center of the living room where a nest has essentially been created. A scantily clad Thenvunin sits in the middle, his hair surprisingly loose and pretty and she wonders why he doesn’t let his hair out like this more often. It’s  _gorgeous_. 

Serahlin takes her shoes off and sinks into the nest. Upon further inspection she finds Thenvunin to be in a slightly sad mood.

“Is something wrong?”

“Uthvir has an exam tomorrow.” He says, shrugging as if it doesn’t both him. But he’s out here, his hair is nice, and she knows that usually Uthvir’s got their hands all over him by this time in the day. 

She sidles up to him as Adannar follows her.

“May I play with your hair?” She asks and he nods his head. Excellent. She beings to run her hands through his locks just as Adannar takes up behind her and rubs at her shoulders…her back and even her arms. 

There is…a lot of touching. 

She puts in several braids for Thenvunin, working his hair into a more and more intricate do as Adannar continues to simply touch her. Vena has taken up with Tasallir and Dirthamen has his head in Vena’s lap while Aelynthi holds Flower in one of the big chairs. 

Halfway through  _Kiki’s Delivery Service_ , the arrangement shifts so that she is curled against Adannar’s chest while Thenvunin curls around her. His hand accidentally lands on her breast at one point and she pointedly moves it away.

“You’re…very soft,” Thenvunin murmurs and she quickly realizes that he’s never done this with a woman before. At one points, Thenvunin shifts and pets at her hair.

“Shea butter?” He asks.

“Argan oil,” she answers and she sees him make a mental note. 

“Thenvunin, your hair is gorgeous, you don’t need to worry about it.” She leans up and kisses his cheek and while he blushes just slightly he also rolls his eyes.

“I  _don’t,_  sis. But a bro should know if his sis or sib or whatever is using harmful shit in their hair, y’know?” He settles in back against her, and moves to whisper in her ear.

“What’s the name of your stylist?”

“I’ll text you the information,” she whispers back, patting his hand for reassurance. 

The cuddling resumes and it’s…not bad. Thenvunin is just behind her and Adannar is under her somewhat, stroking her hair. 

And while she has all that warmth now, she is beginning to sweat and the idea of literally sticking to Thenvunin is not as appealing to her as it is to some. She nudges him away and moves so he can lean against Adannar on one side while she claims the other. 

But when the movie ends, Thenvunin excuses himself to his room to care for his birds, leaving Serahlin with Adannar all to herself. He practically pulls her completely on top of him and nuzzles his way into her hair.

“I think I like having only you,” he whispers and she feels something in her uncoil just a bit. She sinks into his embrace and nuzzles his ear.

She loves him. He lets her be as warm as she wants to be, and really, she thinks, that’s always been what she needed. Someone to let her be, and to love her for it, not in spite of it. 

“I love you,” she whispers again. His arms tighten around her and he smiles into her hair. 

 

~

 

Adannar is touchy.

His hands and body always seem to curve towards her, reaching for her as if he needs reassurance that she’s still there. She wants to tell him that she’s fine, she’s there, and she isn’t going anywhere. But then she sees how he interacts with his fraternity brothers, hugging Vena, rubbing Thenvunin’s arm, wrapping an arm around Aelynthi, bumping up against Dirthamen, and even standing as close as possible to Tasallir. And it’s never sexual, these touches. They’re just…touches.

It’s a bit of a foreign concept for her. She’s had two other relationships in her life, with her high school girlfriend, Lara, and Darris. Neither of them had been particularly physically affectionate. Lara wanted to keep their relationship on the down low for the most part so that her racist parents didn’t find out she was dating an elf. And Darris was…well, he would touch her, would thread a hand through her hair, slide a hand over the curve of her ass or around her waist. He’d pull her in close and whisper all of the explicit things he wanted to do to her.

She…doesn’t remember any time when he touched her publicly if it wasn’t to let her know that he was interested in being particularly public. Parties. The mall. Once at a toy store when she was buying a gift for her friend’s baby shower.

At the time, the association of his touch with sex had been heady, romantic even. Darris wasn’t  _bad_  in bed and he wasn’t degrading or mean. A bit pushy and more interested in sex than she was, but he wasn’t evil. Just an ass.

But here is Adannar, touching her freely and near constantly, nuzzling at her or hugging her or even kissing her so casually, and often lacking any sort of sexual overtones. Adannar is  _there_ , touching her and making her sigh and happy with just a few touches.

At first, it was overwhelming, and she kept feeling like there was this expectation of sex so early in the relationship. But now…she sits in class, having spent the last 30 hours apart from him, feeling her skin almost wilt at the loss.

When did this happen, she wonders. How could he have evolved so quickly from her friend to…to the man she loves.

She expects to feel uneasy at the thought, like she always did when thinking about it about Darris. But the unease isn’t there, only a need for her to be touched. Caressed. Massaged.

Loved.

She wants his hands on her, arms around her, pulling her close, nose buried in her hair, murmuring ‘sweetheart’ in her ear. She  _craves_  his touch, rubbing at her own arms as if to simulate his own hands.

The class ends and she skips out of the room quickly. She wants to get over to the frat house, maybe lay in his bed, hold his puppy until he gets back from wherever he is…or maybe he’s already home. Maybe he’s in his room, wearing the oldest, most raggedy sweatshirt she’s ever seen, the one that belonged to his father that he likes to wear when he studies.

She hopes he’s there.

The campus is large and she is on the opposite end from the frat house, requiring her to take a bus. Her heart hammers in her chest and the need within her just seems to build with each jostle of the bus. Her clothes don’t feel right, they’re too tight or too loose or too soft or not rough enough. She needs pressure and warmth.

Her hand flexes against her knee. She sucks in a breath and tries to keep herself steady.

Steady. Calm.

The bus stops and she hurries out of it and into rain.

“Shit,” slips from her mouth without thinking as she reaches into her bag for her umbrella…only to find that it isn’t there.

“Shit,” she says again, this time on purpose. Her shoes aren’t meant for walking or running in the rain and her hair is going to go flat. This isn’t how you’re supposed to look when you rush over to your boyfriend’s fraternity house for…for…hmm.

What  _exactly_  is she hurrying over for? Hugs? Hand-holding? Cuddling?

All those options seem appealing but…insufficient.

Her brows pull together as she considers the last option and feels her skin crawl for a completely different reason. She doesn’t want to use him, she doesn’t want to lose the non-sexual touch, and she doesn’t want him thinking that this is the only thing she wants him for. And maybe it’s because she wants him for more than just this that she wants him for this.

Her body feels…very aware of itself. And there is a sort of pressure building within her, making her hips sway just a bit more as she steps into the house.

Vena and Tasallir are bickering over Vena insisting that boxers are perfectly appropriate attire for making a snack. His body is flushed, covered with a sheen of sweet, and she looks down to see Ana’s shoes in the entry. Oh.

“Serahlin, please tell him that his under garments are inappropriate attire for the common areas.” Tasallir asks. She feels flushed, is it warm inside the house? She turns to Vena and purses her lips.

“He’s right, Vena, at least wear sweat pants,” she says half-heartedly, looking around the area for Adannar.

Vena grumbles and opens the refrigerator, and apparently pulls out something that sends Tasallir into a tizzy.

“You are going to ruin your sheets with that!”

“Are you planning to stop by my sheets, hot stuff?” Vena leers.

“You idiotic nuisance!” Tasallir finally sputters as Vena heads back down the hall, carting whatever he took with him.

“Lethallin?” Serahlin whispers, not seeing head or tail of her boyfriend.

“Yes, Serahlin?” Tasallir answers in a much more placated voice.

“Have you seen Adannar? I thought he’s usually home by now.” She checks the time again.

“I believe he is at the gym with Thenvunin and Uthvir, I have been watching Flower in the meantime.” As if to prove his point, the dog jumps out from around the island and runs up to Serahlin, asking for head scratches.

Oh. He’s not here. But her skin is still sensitive and the pressure is still there.

She feels exceptionally inappropriate at the moment. She turns to Tasallir and tries a smile that she hopes is convincing.

“Alright, I…will just wait in his room, then, thank you, lethallin.” She would normally brush by him, offering her presence for a comfort but she is…that is not a suitable action currently. Tasallir narrows his eyes at her and she knows he suspects something, but she makes her way to Adannar’s room quickly.

The door clicks shut and a tremulous breath escapes her as she drops her bag to the ground.

She could text him. Call him. He’d come right over.

But that would be a booty-call, tasteless and base and no, absolutely not.

So she has to get creative, she can do that. She eyes the bed and quickly begins to reorganize her outfit. Her shoes and tights come off, and she quickly puts her hair into a braided bun to prevent horrible bed hair. Clad only in her short dress, she climbs into his bed.

It isn’t perfect, but it smells like him, and the fabrics are soft like the shirts he likes to wear. And warm. It’s very warm, and it smells like he does right when he gets out of the shower, all clean and sweet, but still tasting like him when she kisses his skin….

Her hand drifts over her collarbone, imagining him fresh out of shower, the steam billowing around his body in a haze. Naked, and wet, he shines as a sinfully pleased smile overtakes his features.

_You like, sweetheart?_

She  _loves_.

The button on the collar of the dress snaps open and her hands drift over her still covered breasts. Her teeth dig into her lip as her fantasy Adannar strolls forward, ‘accidentally’ losing his towel.

_Oops._

She gasps.

The hem of her dress lifts up, hands come up over her hips only to delve down into her panties.

She imagines his kisses, the warmth and the wetness, the gentle insistence of his tongue against hers. He likes to hold her as he kisses her, maximizing as much contact as possible.

Her fingers are small and delicate compared to his, but she imagines his hands on her as she toys with herself. Hot and wet and slick, like how his skin tastes under her tongue.

She wants to moan, but bites the noise back. This is…wildly inappropriate, running off to his room, where it smells like him and feels like him, touching herself to erotic thoughts of him…

Without him actually being here.

She draws lazy circles over her nub and lets out a sigh.

_I love you, sweetheart._

She loves him too.

Her hips buck and her other hand joins in the fray as best as it’s able. She slips a finger into herself, bites back another sound, and slowly begins to pump in and out. Circling. In and out. Circling.

_Oh honey, you’re so beautiful._

_I want to touch you._

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

A squeak leaves her as she comes in a quick rush, far quicker and more intense than she is accustomed to. Her chest heaves and she rights her panties, but her hands resume running all over her body, her still sensitive skin.

She may have orgasmed, but the need remains.

Her hands are on her breasts when the door opens unexpectedly.

“Yeah, you know I can’t work out without, it’s just on my desk, give me a sec, bro…Serahlin? What are you – oh.” Adannar stands in the doorway, shocked and remaining still with wide eyes, taking in her appearance. On her back in his bed, dress hiked up past her hips, her lace panties clear on display.

“Uuuh.”

She unfreezes from her shock and immediately tugs the blanket up to her face.

Uthvir and Thenvunin appear behind Adannar.

“Bro, what’s taking you so – oh.”

“Okay, Thenvunin, looks like it’s just you and me today. Time to go.” Uthvir practically shoves Adannar fully into the room before emphatically shutting the door.

A pregnant pause fills the room as Serahlin considers the benefits of somehow sneaking out the window.

But now that he’s here…

“I…didn’t know when you were going to be back. Tasallir said you were out,” she says softly.

“I forgot my water bottle…” he replies absently. But he seems finally able to move from that one spot on the floor. She nods and bites her lip again.

Well. This is awkward.

Her blush intensifies, “I should have waited, or texted, I apologize.”

“No, sweetheart, don’t apologize, that was…the best welcome home ever.” He shakes himself out of his reverie and climbs onto the foot of the bed, raising himself on all fours to stalk forward. There is a decidedly wicked gleam to his eye that sends bolts through her body. He gets closer and she finds she cannot respond, just make a faint squeaking noise as he finally shifts to loom over her.

Under him like this, Serahlin feels amazingly small. Another bolt. He is so close, so,  _so_  close to touching her.

“Sweetheart?” He asks, not moving.

She licks her lips, “Mm?”

“May I?”

She swallows and nods her head, “Yes.” And then he lowers himself onto her, his body pressing into hers and she gasps at the contact. Finally,  _finally_  she has him. Her hands are greedy wanderers as they feel the lines of him and waste no time in divesting him of his shirt. Adannar nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck and kisses her softly there. He murmurs sweet things that make her heart warm and her blood heat with passion.

Creators, she wants this man in a way she has never wanted before. It’s more than just his hands on her body, she knows this as he presses a kiss to her jaw and then her cheek. He is kind, and sweet, and she trusts him to be good to her, to respect and honor her. It’s…amazingly thrilling, she thinks, to have a man who can physically touch her and excite her but also provide her with breath taking emotional intimacy that she hadn’t even known she craved since she began to date him.

In fact, she seemed to be starved of  _all_  intimacy, emotional and physical and otherwise.

Adannar peppers her face with light kisses before taking her lips in a much more heated slow kiss that has her curling her toes in ecstasy.

If she was starved before, she is feasting now.

His tongue slips into her mouth, hot and wet and tasting like….

“You ate cake before going to work out?” She asks, licking lips at the lingering sweetness. Adannar shrugs and kisses her cheek.

“I went to Starbucks and they had the raspberry swirl pound cake, I had to get it.” He kisses her again and she softens into it. Beautiful, delightful man. Her arms drape across his shoulders as she gives in completely to his hot lazy kiss.

Adannar’s hands then begin to move down her body, faintly stroking up and down her sides until she’s pressing closer into him. His thumbs move outward and glance just barely over her nipples.

Oh! Serahlin gasps and arches into his touch. She needs  _more_  without barriers and just him.

“Adannar…”

“Mm, Serahlin sweetheart,” he suddenly moves away from her mouth to her neck, then to her collarbone before kissing her breasts through the layers of fabric of her dress and bra.

Yellow eyes flicker up to hers and she swallows before sitting up. It takes some wiggling and Adannar is unwilling to be overly far from her…meaning that he needs to be pressed up right against her and really, that is no hardship.

She shucks off the dress and falls back to the bed, clad only in her delicate bra and panties that are…woefully not decorative. But Adannar moans at the sight of her and makes to kiss the delicate fabric of her lingerie before kissing her flesh and reaching behind her to unclasp the bra. She slides the garment off her shoulders and his breath stutters as her breasts are revealed.

“Maker, you are gorgeous. Perfect,” he praises before kissing all around a nipple. His tongue teases the small nub, arching a brow at her playfully before sealing his mouth over her.

“Ah!” He sucks at her as one hand plays with her other breast and the other glances down and into her panties.

“Please, please Adannar, I need…”

“What do you need, sweetheart? Do you need this?” He licks her nipple and she squirms.

“Or maybe this?” He asks, his voice notably deeper as his finger delves to her folds and gently strokes her. Her back arches and she squeaks in surprise.

“Mmm, I think we have a winner.”

How…is he so playful? Even when in bed he is light and happy and he’s lowering his mouth down her body, planting purposeful kisses down over her stomach, to her panties –

A low, unexpected moan escapes her when he presses his mouth against her and her panties. He doesn’t remain for long, however, as he leans back up and removes the garment, laying it carefully next to her bra. So thoughtful, her Adannar is. She caresses his face and while she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t think she  _can_ , her expression is soft and as loving as she can make it.

Adannar turns his head to kiss her palm…then her pulse. Her breath stops for a moment. Oh. Okay. She tugs him back up to her, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him tight against her. She needs him close, needs his touch.

“Sweetheart, my love,” he murmurs, pressing lips her hair. Hands pull her up slightly only to moves to rake down her back.

“Ahh!” She hisses in burning pleasure, arching and wrapping herself more firmly around him.

He’s still wearing those damn shorts, though.

“Shorts…off, please?” It’s an awkward shimmy with neither of them wanting to part overly much from the other, but soon he’s naked and above her and around her. His touch is everywhere and she lets herself go into the touch, into the sensations of his hands cupping and teasing her sensitive flesh. Lips press against hers, fingers delve into her heat and she raises a leg higher up to allow him better access.

It is…so good. Hot and sexy, of course, but loving and understanding, stoking a fire of intimacy and trust. His thumb draws tantalizing circles around her clit just as he begins to pump a finger in and out of her. Slow, burning, but also aching and needing.

His lips moves up to her ear and she arches just in anticipation as he –

“AH! FUCK!” She swears as he seals his mouth over her ear and  _sucks_. Whimpers, whines, and moans beyond her control escape her as she grows wetter in a rush, clenching around him. But her release is anything but as she feels her need for him hit a boiling point.

His teeth graze over the cartilage, her toes curl in response but he moves his lips back to hers. He breaks away to lean over and shuffle through his night stand, pulling out a condom. He pauses and looks at her, really looks at her.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” her voice is a little hoarse and lower than what is considered sexy but a shiver runs down his spine and he kisses her again while his hands quickly slide the condom onto himself.

“Serahlin, Serahlin,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to whatever piece of her that is closest as he slowly guides himself into her. He’s wide, and the stretch makes her burn with pleasure.

“You feel so good, so good, I love you, I do, sweetheart, ah.” His broad, surprisingly soft chest rubs against hers in wonderful contact. She’s surrounded by him, being consumed by him, loving him.

Oh.

She really loves him. She knew that she loved him before but to feel it this keenly, so sharply as he sheathes himself completely inside of her is…perfect.

“I love you too,” she whispers back, nipping at his earlobe. A soft gasp escapes him and his hips thrust gently forward against her.

“Oh!”

Despite her obvious need for him, he is slow, deliberate in his pace, grinding up against her just as much as thrusting into her. She swears several more times, all in Orlesian and Elven now, as she adjusts to his size and he begins to move just a bit faster.

“You’re so beautiful, waiting in my room like that. I love that, were you touching yourself?”

“…yes.”

“ _Serahlin_.” He moans, a shudder flowing from him and into her. He reaches down and touches her as he thrusts in and out and in –

“Adannar,” she moans and comes again around him in a sudden rush. Her body is possessed, she is sure of it, carnal and wanton. Hands buried in his hair, legs wrapped around his hips, and moans flying free from her lips as Adannar whispers how sexy she is, how he touches himself to thoughts of her, how he loves her, wants to be with her, that there is no other like her, only she heats him like this. Only her, only her.

“Vhenaaan!” She cries, completely authentic and surprising in a way, but also…not unexpected. His pelvis slaps against hers, angling perfectly to make her gasp as he stills and shudders, pressing closer and closer as his orgasm rolls through him.

He collapses against her, sweating and warm and perfect. His arms are secure around her and she feels a lazy haze drift over her. The fever in her seems to have cooled for the moment, now leaving her a soft, pliant woman who really wants to continue to hold onto her lover.

“Vhenan?” She whispers. Adannar grunts, shifts only slightly to slip out of her, but he seems to remember the condom and takes care of it quickly before returning to her. He wraps her softly against him.

He pets her hair and sighs, “Selene told me what that word means.”

She nuzzles his chest, “Mhmm.”

“Is…am I really that to you?” He asks in disbelief. Serahlin lifts her head and smiles softly.

“Yes, Adannar. My dear, my love…my heart.” She presses a kiss to the pulse in his neck and presses closer. She has him, her heart, and she isn’t about to let him go any time soon.

 

~

 

There is wet, textured thing moving across her face and a soft high pitched noise accompanying it. 

Serahlin makes a noise of protest and tries to cocoon herself deeper into the bed.  _Five more minutes, Flower, please._

But the puppy continues to whine about her bladder and Adannar of course is snoring and blissfully unaware that his dog has designated Serahlin as the person to take her outside at 7am every day. Even on Saturdays. She knows the licking and the whining won’t stop, so she tosses the covers to the side and slowly makes her way out of the incredibly soft bed. Adannar’s arm flops down to the bed and he makes a sound of protest before snorting and rolling over onto his side. 

She watches him fondly and bemoans the loss of the bed and warmth and her man wrapped around her. 

Mm, she likes that, her man. 

Flower whines some more and scratches at the door. She’s about doubled in size since Adannar got her, but she retains a lot of her puppy fluff and stature. Serahlin sighs and pulls on a pair of sweatpants…that belong to Adannar. But she can’t really bring herself to care that she put on his instead of hers as she quietly opens the door and follows Flower down the hall.

One of the doors opens, and a very different looking Uthvir emerges, hair fluffed up to an extreme she did not know their hair was capable of, wearing a…”Save the Ducks” sweatshirt. It’s purple. 

They both stop and briefly look at each other, wearing startled morning frowns as they stare at each other.

After a pause, Serahlin speaks, “I didn’t see you.” Her voice is low and gravelly, but Uthvir nods then makes their way to the bathroom.

The bathroom door opens and Selene walks out, wearing her Mathlete’s shirt. One side of her hair is still pressed up high with a halo of frizz, and she absently yawns as she shuffles back into Dirthamen’s room. 

Serahlin continues down the stairs after Flower. She hits the bottom and turns towards the kitchen, only to flinch and make a noise of distress at the brightness and noise emanating from the kitchen.

Vena and Ana are chasing each other around the island. Vena’s hand is raised up high, holding a banana, while Ana giggles and whips a towel back at him occasionally. 

The back door opens and Victory and Aelynthi step inside, smiling and sweating and looking entirely too awake for the hour. 

Victory’s smiles broadly and he waves.

“Good morning, Serahlin!” 

His voice is very, very loud. 

Aelynthi playfully slaps Victory’s bicep, “I told you not to talk to her. She’s not a morning person.” Someone with sense.

She winces back just in time for Vena to finally catch Ana in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground. She squeals and giggles and spots Serahlin.

“Hi, Serahlin! Ooh! Cute bralette!”

….Did she forget…

Oh. She did. She forgot to put on a shirt. She resists the urge to immediately cover herself on the discovery that almost everyone has now seen her in her sexy sleep-wear that she got specifically for Adannar. 

Wonderful. 

She shuffles to the back door and finally lets Flower out to do her thing. Spring is…springing, birds are chirping  and she wonders just how much sex happened last night in the house. 

….

She should take Tasallir out today for tea, or maybe the spa - some place to make him feel clean.

Once Flower’s finished her business, she runs right back inside and makes a beeline for Adannar’s room, which Serahlin is all too happy to do as well.

She climbs the stairs only to find a pantsless Dirthamen trying to covertly make his way back to his room. He freezes when he sees her.

“I normally wear pants.” He says.

“I normally wear shirts.” She replies. He nods then makes his way back into his room. His silencing wards flare up as she walks by. 

Finally, she makes her way back to Adannar’s room. Serahlin promptly crawls back into bed with her love, the bed dipping under her weight. He turns and blinks his open, smiling sleepily.

“Heeeey.”

“Nooo, not heeey, sleep. More. Please.” She asks and he opens his arms for her to cuddle into.

“Mmmkay,” he mumbles before burying his nose into her hair and falling asleep once more. It takes her a few moments, but soon, Serahlin is asleep again, bundled up in warm, soft blankets and an even warmer man. 

 

~

 

Dirthamen is very fond of his and Selene’s Arlathan apartment.

It is one of three which they own, but thus far, it is the only one which they have had sufficient opportunity to style and decorate together. It is a larger place, located somewhat away from the center of the city for purposes of affordability. The view is good, though, overlooking a small city garden. The apartment came with a plot in said garden, and is of an open, airy design that manages to feel spacious without offering an excess of voids.

Dirthamen foresees them spending a good deal of time here, and so, not long after their purchase, he begins upgrading the wards for the space. On a weekend he has free from work, he sets about his master plan. The security wards are the most straight-forward, and really only require a minor alteration to the existing ones which the apartment came with. He changes the locks, while he is at it, and the door screws, and then goes about setting all the magical alerts that will go off in the invent of broken pipes, faulty wiring, gas leaks, or other potential hazards that could develop with time.

For the more personalized wards, Dirthamen has a plan.

He thinks he has developed sufficient protections against some of Selene’s more particular outbursts. But there is really only one reliable way to test this theory. So, after a day spent warding, shielding, and casting, Dirthamen retreats into the bedroom, and opens up a parcel that arrived several days earlier.

The material inside is dark and shimmery, and perfectly tailored to him. He inspects it carefully, before pulling on the liquid black, thigh-high socks, and the tightly fitted silver bodice, and the tiny black thong. The latter takes him the most time to adjust to. It is not terribly comfortable, and he keeps slipping out of it, until he figures out that he needs to rearrange where the top straps are curving across his hips. Then it stays in place more sufficiently, and he can at least move somewhat without it slipping.

He checks his reflection, and the time, and after several moments, determines that winged eye-liner would be an adequate completion to the look. He carefully applies it, and then settles onto the bed and watches television for the further twenty minutes it takes for Selene’s key to scrape in the lock.

At the sound, he turns off the screen.

“Honey, I’m home!” she calls.

“I am in the bedroom!” Dirthamen returns. He checks that he is still inside his thong – he is – and then carefully rearranges himself into a traditionally sultry pose.

“Ooh, in the bedroom,” Selene replies, and then chuckles a little at herself. “Did you take apart the closet doors a… gain…”

Selene comes into the room, still sliding her coat off of her shoulders, and then stops dead in her tracks. Her eyes go wide. The colour in her cheeks darkens noticeably, and her fingers tighten around the material of her jacket. A low ‘mmmuhhh’ sound escapes her, involuntarily it seems, and the tiniest wisp of smoke bursts up from the carpet in front of her, only to wink out an instant later.

Dirthamen gives it another few moments, but when no further signs of fire make themselves known, he smiles.

Success!

Well, provided that Selene was sufficiently aroused, at least. He supposes he had better check that.

“Do you like my outfit?” he asks.

There is a delay, as Selene opens her mouth, but fails to produce coherent sound. After a moment she just settles for nodding. The coat drops from her hands, and she moves closer to the bed. Dirthamen brings a hand up to her shirt collar. He gently pops open one of the buttons on it, and trails his fingers over the skin of her neck. Selene’s pupils are very large, as she leans in and kisses him. Her lips are a little rough and dry; her lipstick did not outlast the day. He finds the overall effect unexpectedly exciting, though. She has sweated through her deodorant as well, and the scent of her after a long day is also pleasing.

“You look stunning,” she manages to say.

He smiles against her lips.

“I’m glad you think so,” he tells her. “Is there anything I could do to be more enticing? Would you like to see the back? I will have to be careful when I move, the thong dislikes staying put.”

There is another brief flash of smoke, but it does not even singe the bed sheets.  _Much_  better than last week. Is this more arousing than last week’s Tie Incident, however? That is harder to assess, still.

Selene’s hand brushes over his thigh. Her throat bobs as she swallows.

“…Okay…” she manages.

Dirthamen cannot resist kissing her again, before he carefully turns onto his other side. Presenting his back to her, as he keeps his legs together, and bends one knee, and props himself up to keep his body elongated. He hopes he is doing this correctly, anyway. He looked at a large number of catalogue models as part of his research for this test.

Selene sucks in a sharp breath.

In the good way, he thinks.

He hears her shift, and feels one of her hands run down his back, and brush across his hip. She leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of one of his ears. He feels a shiver of anticipation run down his spine.

“You approve?” he nevertheless checks.

“Gods, you’re gorgeous,” she tells him. The compliment is very reassuring, even given the existing evidence of her regard for him, and he sighs as she runs a hand down his thigh. Taking a moment to massage the shimmering fabric of his stockings across his skin. She kisses the side of his neck, and then works her hand back up to hook a finger underneath the band of his thong. He suspects the material he commissioned might be inherently too slippery for this style of garment, as she barely shifts it, and he feels himself begin to slip out of it.

Selene’s breath stutters.

“Oh whoops, oh no,” she says, managing some playfulness, now. “Let me just fix that.” She reaches around, and his hips twist, his own breath catching as she takes him in hand, only to carefully fit him back into the thong again. She gives the fabric over top of him a gentle ‘securing’ squeeze that shoots right through him, then, before trailing her hand up his stomach, and across the varying fabrics of his corset. Her fingers discover the soft, textured material over top of his nipples, and she toys with it. The sensations sliding down his body as the fabric moves across his sensitive skin, and the heat from her fingers soaks through to it. Her lips land at the base of his neck, and she begins sucking a bruise into the skin there.

He lets out a tiny sound of pleasure, and shifts his hips back towards her. Pressing his backside just a little more firmly against her.

“Please,” he asks. “Selene, can we…?”

“Absolutely,” she agrees, and pats his bicep reassuringly, before she pulls back. Dirthamen turns – carefully – again, and watches with growing excitement as Selene divests herself of her own attire. She pulls off her footwraps, and her slacks, and shimmies out of her panties, too. Leaving herself in just her dress shirt, before she moves to the side drawer and pulls it open. Dirthamen had pre-emptively cleaned and moved whatever he anticipated her requiring in there, along with a fresh box of condoms and lubricant. Ultimately, though, he is content to let her take the lead now.

There is another little burst of smoke. This one even smaller than the previous two; good. The adaptability matrix he worked into his casting appears to be having some success.

After a few moments of delay, Selene pulls out her favourite vibrating strap-on and the bottle of lubricant.

Oh, good.

Dirthamen rearranges some of the pillows to provide more comfortable support, and then carefully holds his thong in place as he gets onto his knees, and spreads his legs. There is a brief flash, which causes him to look up, but whatever the light source had been, he sees no evidence of fire as Selene moves closer again. And then he finds that most of his attention is diverted away from assessments of almost any kind, as she trails her hands across his backside. Giving him a firm squeeze, and hooking another finger under the strap of his thong. She snaps it, a little, before she parts his cheeks.

The thong moves askew once more, of course. Dirthamen shifts his hips, but this time Selene makes no move to contain him again as she pops open the bottle of lubricant. Warming it between her hands, before she begins to move slick fingers over his heated and sensitive flesh. His muscles flutter, and her fingers brush the sensitive skin behind his testicles, and circle towards his entrance. She moves one hand onto his thigh. Kneading the fabric of his socks across his skin, again, as she slips the first finger into him.

He bites his lip as the sensation shivers through him. Selene goes slow. Careful. Moving her touch to where it can give him the most sensation, as she opens him up. His skin is tingling by the time she fits in a second finger. It is not the most intense of feelings, for him, but there is something exceptionally intimate about it, and the way it manages to arouse him without quite igniting him, as he has heard it can do for some people, often builds him up towards a very slow and lingering edge.

As it is doing now.

His arousal starts to mount more and more, and Selene’s fingers brush against his inner walls in just the right way to make his cock twitch. As she adds more lubricant to the proceedings, and carries on, he feels his erection straining. As he reaches his most flushed, Selene rearranges the thong, again – pausing in her ministrations to slip the fabric back over his engorged flesh, and stroke him, briefly. The new arrangement leaves the tip of his cock pressing out of the top of his thong, pushing it outwards from his body, but actually otherwise holding it in place. It provides some unexpected pressure against him; but the fabric is far too smooth to give him much friction.

Selene shifts back a little, and begins fitting her strap-on into place.

She lubricates it thoroughly, before she turns it on; her breath hitching as the vibrations from it press against her own body. Dirthamen exhales low and steadily as she lines up with him, and grips his hips. The tip of her phallus pressing against his entrance.

“Ready?” she asks him.

“Yes,” he agrees, breathlessly.

Her thumbs brush across his bare skin, teasing him and drawing out the expectation for a while, and then she slowly sinks into him. A soft moan escapes him as he is stretched open. It’s echoed by her own voice, as her movement forward presses the strap-on more firmly against her own arousal. The gentle vibrations are exceptionally stimulating, though Selene’s fingers were warmer. Dirthamen tightens his grip on one of the pillows as her hips rock forward, and his do, too, and the fabric of his thong brushes just slightly against his erection.

“ _Ah_ ,” he breathes.

“Alright?” Selene checks. Her voice is low and rough, now.

He nods. Yes. A shiver slips through him as she hesitates a moment, and then pulls back, and gently pushes into him again. He cannot stop the ragged little breaths and hitched moans that escape him when she does this. His sensitive skin yielding and stretching, the slick slide of the lubricant and the weight of trust serving as the only things keeping the experience from edging onto the wrong side of excitement. Selene gives him several long, deliberately slow thrusts, and a few breathy groans of her own escape her, before she risks settling into a more steady rhythm.

Dirthamen flexes a hand open and closed against the fabric of his sheets. His thighs tremble, and Selene clutches them as her strokes brush up against the bundle of internal nerves that make him feel like he is slowly unravelling. His skin is so flushed, he almost thinks to check and see that there is truly no fire anywhere. But no; that is just his pulse, hammering in his veins. His heart thumping in time to the slow in-and-out slide of its second owner.

Dirthamen works his hips back towards her. Her own breaths grow increasingly ragged, and bit by bit her thrusts take on a more frantic quality. Pressing more firmly, as she seeks better contact with the vibrating surface against her. Going, subsequently, deeper, and Dirthamen widens his legs further and lets her, enthralled by her impassioned moans and lingering, rolling thrusts. Her nails dig into his socks, just slightly, and her palms tremble a little as she goes still, then.

A rush of heat bursts through him in turn, as he realizes she’s coming. That her own pleasure has reached a crescendo.  A ragged, inarticulate cry escapes her, and then she starts up again. Thrusting into him in a desperate, seeking motion, and then another. There is no reason to stop, so long as her muscles are still holding up; and it seems they are. One of her hands comes arounds and strokes him through the thong again, setting it askew and then leaving his erection to bounce forward with her surprisingly renewed vigor. Her orgasm serving to excite her more than sate her, it seems.

He strains. His blood thundering, the single stroke firing off sparks and then prompting a gasp from him as it is just as easily withdrawn. Selene pauses, but only to urge him to roll onto his back, instead.

“I want to see your face,” she tells him, panting. He hitches his legs up around her, and she stares at him as she sinks back into him. He’s flushed, he knows. He can feel it all the way down his neck, and his thong is in hopeless disarray, still technically ‘on’ but bunched all to the side, as his cock presses up against Selene’s stomach with the completion of her every stroke. She moves her hands across his corset again, her own expression enthralled.

Dirthamen reaches up for the buttons of her dress shirt. He finds he can manage to undo one almost every time her thrusts bring her just a little bit closer; opening up her shirt until he can see the exposed fabric of her bra.

It is the kind with the clasp in the front.

He undoes it, and she sighs – more from relief, in that case, than arousal, it would seem. He tightens his legs around her a little, and slides a hand into the loose cup of her bra. The other he begins to work towards his own aching erection, but Selene catches that one, and presses it pointedly back to the mattress.

“Not yet,” she tells him. “I want to see if I can make you come like this.”

She adds another pointed thrust, and Dirthamen gasps.

“I – I do not think I can,” he admits, biting his lips.

Selene grins. A heated glint in her eye, as she brushes his wrist reassuringly.

“Well,” she says. “Only one way to know for sure.”

And then she keeps going.

 

~

 

“You want me to  _what_?” Selene asks. Not that she’s opposed to the idea. She just hadn’t given it much consideration before.

“Uthvir and Thenvunin seem to enjoy it,” Dirthamen supplies.

“Right. Yes. You know that I can’t…” she gestures vaguely to her lower half “I can’t shapeshift. I can’t even change my eye or hair color on my own. I don’t think I  _can…”_ she trails off.

“I am aware. I looked into alternate solutions, if you are interested.”

“Really? Like what?”

Dirthamen pauses and pulls out a bag full of several differently sized and colored boxes. Selene opens one, and her face turns a deep red. Dirthamen quickly pats out the flames on the floor.

“You uh,” she licks her lips “You really want to try this?”

DIrthamen nods “If you are not opposed.”

Selene looks at the object and belt in her hands and stands.

“We’ll need more lube.”

——-

“I think the weight on this one is weird,” Selene grunts, half buried already.

“I believe it is the-” a gasp “Rotating motor inside that is throwing you off.”

“Mm, maybe,” she allows before adding some more lubrication. Just in case.

——-

“Ok, double ended sounds great in theory but-” Selene sighs, as she pulls her own half out, continuing to pump it for him “I think this might be a bit unsuited for our purposes.”

“Perhaps another position next time,” Dirthamen pants from beneath her as she twists the toy slightly.

——-

“This one. I like this one,” She moans into his ear from where she is bent over his back, fully buried and enjoying the vibrations pressed up against her.

Dirthamen has been reduced largely to high pitched moans of his own by now, but the way he’s arching back towards her seems like a pretty good indication of his agreement.

 

Mm-hm. Definitely this one, she thinks.

 

~

 

Dirthamen enjoys Selenes vocalizations during their bedroom activities quite a lot. 

Even muffled as they sound to him with his head placed between her thighs or in the crook of her neck or with his head sinking comfortably into the pillows. Sometimes they are whispers, pressed into his skin and his bones, thanks and praise and love, secrets just for him to keep. And other times, they are loud declarations, made with her head thrown back and her back arched while she rocks against his mouth or his fingers or his cock. He loves those, too, her voice ringing in the echoes of his room while she finds her release and he holds on to his edge, not ready to fall just yet.

 

There is a knock on his door after this particular exclamation, however. Selene swiftly rolls off of him, pulling his comforter up to her chin in an attempt to hide. He takes a deep breath, pulling on his pajama pants and angling his lower half carefully behind the door as he opens it.

 

“Hey,” Aelynthi greets “We’re all thrilled you two finally got past the awkward stuff but uh. I’m trying to work, and Tasallir has left and come back to the house twice already just to hear you two still going at it and he’s taking it out on the rest of us. Can you either reinforce your silencing wards, or keep it down please?”

 

Dirthamen nods. “Yes, that should not be a problem. Our apologies for disturbing you.”

 

“Thanks,” Aelynthi acknowledges before heading back out the hall to his own room.

 

The parts of Selenes face that are peeking out from under his comforter are a rather striking shade of red. “Sorry,” She apologizes “I’ll try to be quieter.”

 

Dirthamen contemplates their options, before tilting his head and sending a few more jolts of energy into his wards to reinforce them. “There will be no need,” he reassures her, making his way back to his bed, where she is still warm and waiting beneath the covers.

 

~

 

Elanna can be boisterous. Loud, even brash. Fun-loving, and playful. She doesn’t just keep pace with Vena; a lot of the time she runs circles around him. Darting between his own jokes and games, turning things upside-down, or taking them as-is.

But now she’s in his room. Flustered, bright red and stripped down to her underpants and shirt, and all the bravado has vanished enough that Vena wonders if she’s scared. If he did such a bad job of it, last time, that she doesn’t know what to do. She was nervous then, too. Back in the car. But it was different. They couldn’t really strip down, and there wasn’t a bed, and they just sort of… evolved from kisses, and touches. Vena knows Ana, but in some ways he feels like they’ve only managed to get pieces of one another. More than enough to tell what the whole picture  _is,_  but they’ve also never really stepped  back and  _looked._

Half her face is hidden by her hair.

“Hey,” Vena says. She looks over at him, and he grins. Waggles his eyebrows. “Want to watch me peel  _this_  banana?”

He points directly at his crotch. Then he reaches down, and starts unzipping his pants while improvising some sexy music, and bursts into laughter. Her hand coming up to cover her mouth as Vena sways his hips, and lets his pants slowly slide down while he provides ample side-effects. Lots of gyrations. He flips his hair, and puts his hands behind his head, and moves a bit closer as she covers her eyes, and ducks her head, and then looks back up at him.

“Seriously?” she asks him.

He shimmies his way closer, and slips his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. Snaps the elastic, and watches as she giggles, and then reaches out and presses a hand to his skin.

“Didn’t that hurt?” she asks him, blushing but less nervous, now, he thinks.

“Not really. These bad boys are soft and comfy,” he assures her. Then he reaches over, and cups her cheek. Her eyes widen a little, and she seems to realize where her hand is all at once, and pulls it back into her lap. But she tilts her head up towards him, too.

“You say the word and I’ll stop,” he promises. “Ana…”

“You too,” she says. Then she inches up, just a little, and he leans down. Their lips brush. She pulls back almost straight away, but only a little. Like she’s still unsure. Vena gives it a second, and then brushes one of her cheeks, and kisses the other. A spray of freckles and a hot blush beneath his lips. He trails them down towards the side of her neck.  _Slow and steady,_  he thinks. It’s not a hardship, by far. He slides a hand onto her hip, keeping his palm on top of the fabric of the shirt she’s still wearing. Brushing back and forth, working his way closer, until Elanna’s fingers are tangling in his hair, and she’s inching closer to him, still.

He pulls away from his kisses to look at her. She smells like one of her skin care deals. All natural and woods-y, and Vena thinks they should maybe be doing this in a forest next to a waterfall somewhere. Some place magical; some place more romantic. The candle he lit really aren’t cutting it. He thinks of a scene from one of Melarue’s films, where they’d played the part of an ancient elven diety; lounging in their woodland set, surrounded by spritely attendants. Everything draped in flowers and vines and sheer, silken fabrics.

Elanna belongs in Vena’s front seat, making off-colour jokes and singing along to her oldies. She belongs in a verdant field, and ancient shrine, a palace.

And she fits so well, in his arms.

“I love you, you know,” he says, seriously.

Elanna goes still. Her eyes widening, and her mouth falling slack in shock. It opens and closes a couple of times. Vena feels a rush of self-consciousness, more visceral than he ever might have expected. But… it’s true, anyway. He can’t even apologize for it. What else was could have happened, in the end? Between the two of them? Friends or lovers or whatever, he thinks, he would have loved her. Sometimes he thinks he must have starting falling the first time they spoke. Back in highschool, in those days that now just seem like a blur of stress and expectations and Ana, like some blessing that came and slowed everything down. Moments with her captured with a clarity that next to nothing else has.

Sunlight in her hair as they walk, and talk. As she laughs, and makes a face, and pokes his arm.  _Hold out your hand, I found this seashell and it’s the same colour as your car!_

It’s happening right now, too, he thinks. As the colour in her cheeks increases impossibly, and she looks at him, and manages to make an odd squeaking noise.

He smiles.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he assures her. “I just thought you should know. Cards all out on the table, right? I love you, Ana-bo-bana.”

Her eyes are bright.

“You are so  _stupid!”_  she blurts, all in a rush. Vena laughs, and she kisses him. Hasty and clumsy, because he’s laughing, and all, and she’s out-of-sorts, he thinks. Her mouth hits his bottom lip and chin, first. He tilts down, and chases after her before she can pull back. He’s a lot better at kissing, now. Practice makes perfect and all. He sweeps his tongue between her lips, and swallows a gasp. Then he breaks it off to pull her down to the mattress.

“I really am so stupid,” he confirms, and she smacks him, lightly. Hiding her face against his shoulder.

“No you’re not,” she says.

He laughs.

“You said it first,” he points out. Sliding his hands carefully, slowly up her thighs. He hums, and starts to sing. “What am I supposed to do, ‘cause when my heart’s on fire, burnin’ with desire, all I think about is you. I’m a fool in love with you, with you~”

Elanna buries her face against his neck, so hot he can feel it, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. Her breath hitching as his hands drift up to the edge of her shirt, and underneath the hem. Smooth, soft skin, and then the flimsy cotton of her underthings. Vena feels almost faint with want for her. Humming and singing a few more random lyrics, serenading, he supposes, as she presses a kiss to the side of his neck, and spreads her legs a little more easily around him.

“Vena,” she says.

“We okay?” he checks.

“…Yeah…” her voice is just a little bit shaky.  _Go slow,_  Vena reminds himself.

“Can I taste you?” he asks, as he slips a thumb underneath the side of her panties, and rubs it carefully back and forth. He wants to put his mouth everywhere on her, come to it. He remembers how soft her breasts are. The sound she’d made the first time he’d gotten his tongue on her nipple. It sends another bolt of wanting straight through him.

She makes another sound, at his question. Embarrassed?

He nibbles at her ear, while he waits for her answer. His impulse is to just do it, just go for it. He knows he  _can_  do it, now. Properly, and everything, and he wants to. He wants to hear her pant and moan and cry out in pleasure. But he went too fast the first time, he thinks. Tried to rush right into it, and even if he has a better idea of what he’s doing, everyone’s different.  _Ana’s_  different.

She’s so quiet, about this stuff.

“Do you really want to?” she finally asks.

He pulls back just enough to look at her face. Her brows furrowed, her expression uncertain. He can’t resist temptation enough to keep from pressing a kiss to her nose.

“I’ve always liked how bananas taste,” he says.

She closes her eyes.

“ _Vena!”_  she protests.

“Please,” he asks, and her breath hitches. He moves his mouth towards her ear again. “Please, Ana, let me?”

Her blunt nails scratch, just lightly, against the back of his shoulders.

“If… if you really want…”

“I do,” he promises.

Does he ever.

She takes in a steadying breath.

“Okay.”

He thanks her, fervently, which makes her breath hitch again, before he starts moving down. Laying a kiss at her collarbones, and then settling carefully between her legs. He rolls the hem of her shirt up, brushing his hands carefully over her hips. The skin between her thighs is  _so soft._  And there’s a little bow on the front of her panties. On a whim, he kisses it; keeping them in place as he moves his mouth downwards. He nuzzles her through the fabric, before he presses his mouth against it.

“O-oh!” Elanna gasps.

“Beautiful,” Vena murmurs, before he settles into it. teasing her through the fabric, licking in strong, steady strokes as it gradually soaks through, and her hips start to shift. He coaxes her legs up over his shoulders, which makes her face  _flame_  again, and she lets out the most endearing squeak before clapping a hand over her mouth. The angle’s a lot better, Vena thinks, smiling and taking his time. He licks and sucks and mouths at her, until the fabric is so slick that on one motion it just slips to one side and his tongue runs across warm, wet, salty and sensitive flesh directly.

Ana’s hips buck, and she gasps.

“So good,” Vena murmurs. “You taste so good.” It’s maybe not the  _taste_ , precisely, that’s wonderful. But under the circumstances he’s just going to go with the simple compliment, as he finally pulls her panties off, and then goes for it. Delving his tongue between her warm, wet folds, pressing his face more firmly between her legs, until her thighs are trembling and her hangs are gripping the sheets. He finds her clit, and spends a little while just working his tongue against it in long, circular strokes, until she tenses and presses her ankles into his back. Another gasp escaping her, as she gets noticeably wetter.

“Holy f-!” she cries.

Vena runs his hands up and down her thighs, and kisses her trembling flesh, before he starts up again. It’s all just so pleasantly warm and wet and soft, and her hitching breaths and gasps are more than ample encouragement. He sticks with in until his mouth starts to get tired, and he can’t really tell if she came a second time or not. Her shirt’s ridden up almost to her breasts. He pulls back, and wipes his chin, and lifts it further as he climbs up her. She stares at him, a little dazed, and then helps him pull it away. Her hair fluffs out as she comes free of it, and he stares at the soft, pale freckles on her breasts.

His mouth’s not  _too_  tired, he thinks, and lowers it to the right one. Her legs wrapping around him as he drags his tongue over the pebbling nub of her nipple, and laves at it. And then, well, it would just be rude to neglect the other one. All that soft, spotted skin, so perfect against his lips.

“You have the best boobs,” he murmurs.

A surprised laugh escapes her.

“Oh Creators,” she says. “…I’m glad you like them…?”

“I do,” he confirms, and teases one of her nipples between his fingers, as he rakes his tongue over the other. He devotes a good deal of soft, lazy attention to enjoying them, until Ana’s squirming a little beneath him, and rolling her hips, and he’s trying to be really, really patient, but he’s also starting to feel like he’s going to burst out of his briefs if he doesn’t do something about himself soon. He hums, to try and ground himself; but after a few minutes, his own hips start rocking, a little. Grinding against the bed more than Ana, really, given the angle and their size difference, until he moves up to kiss her. And then his crotch presses firmly against her backside, right as she shifts against him.

He gasps over her lips.

“Ana, Ana…”

“Vena,” she replies. Her hands pressing against his chest.

“You want to stop?”

“No.”

He sighs, and rocks his hips against her again. “I’ve got… should grab…” he swallows, hard, and pulls himself away enough to rifle through his bedside table. Condoms. Lubed condoms, and then more lube, too. All the lube. He grabs it, stalling a bit as he feels fingers press against the waistband of his briefs. Ana clears her throat, and tries to say something. And then she just kinda gives him a pointed tug, instead.

Vena’s heart flips over even as he feels a fresh rush of heat.

“This okay…?” he asks, and holds up the condom. Being articulate seems to have abandoned them both. Ana swallows, and gives him another tug, and nods.

“I love you,” he says, again. It just kind of flies out, as he slips off his briefs and presses close to her. Kisses her and caresses her a little more, before flicking open the bottle of lube. He warms some in his palm before working his fingers into her. She’s already so slick, he gets a finger into her without even really thinking about it. Her hands press at his chest, again, grasping a few stray strands of his hair, and he breathes every stray, sincere compliment he can think at her. Fingers working inside of her.

“Vena,” she whispers back, as he slides the condom onto himself.

“I love you, I love you… I’m so sorry, Ana…”

“What’re you talking about?” she asks, a little dazed and short of breath, her brows furrowing. She cups his cheek, and makes him look at her.  “You’re beautiful, Vena. You’re so beautiful.”

He swallows, his own breath caught. His slick fingers slipping towards her hips. He tries to take in everything about her. The part of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest as she pants, the dusting of freckles on her hipbones, the soft dip of her navel. He’s not small. He’s won his fair share of locker room contests, so to speak. But Ana  _is,_  and so he goes careful.

Careful, slow, as he lines himself up with her. Sinking into her sweet heat, until she tightens her grip on him and gives a thrust of her hips that seems to surprise them both, and finishes taking him in. Then she tips her head back and sucks in a sharp breath.

Vena stills. Waiting. He moves his mouth to her neck, and sweeps his arms around her. Holding her, waiting, waiting…

“Oh,” she says. “You’re inside me.”

He feels a rush of warmth. A different kind; more fondness a little bit of amusement than anything.

“Banana split,” he murmurs.

She pokes him.

“That sounds painful. This feels…” her throat bobs as she swallows. “Not.”

“Good?” he checks.

“Good,” she confirms. “Very… very… oh.” She bites her lip as he moves, tentatively. Slipping her hands up towards his neck, and pulling him down with just the lightest touch, to kiss her again. It feels almost dreamlike, Vena decides. Except his dreams would probably have made some kind of suitably verdant oasis for her.

He moves again, and she meets his motions with a shallow little move of her own hips.

“Vena,” she calls.

“I’ve got you,” he tells her. Moving with ease, but still, he goes slow. It’s a slow kind of a time. Intimate in a way that his hook-ups never had been; not searing, but still, intense. Every brush of a touch feels heightened. Elanna’s fingers pressing against him. Her legs around him. Her breath, puffing from flushed lips, eyes fixed on his face until he thrusts into her and she arches back and bites her lip and clenches around him.

Vena moves a few more times. Deliberate, savouring, as she pants and holds onto him and he comes in a slow, low breaking. Slumping against her a bit more heavily than he means to. But she just wraps her arms around him, and holds him close.

“Ana,” he sighs.

“I’ve got you,” she tells him, softly.

Oh.

Vena buries his face against her hair, and snuggles her close.

Perfect.

 

~

 

Ana holds him close. Her fingers tangle in his hair and she kisses his temple. She loves his hair. His breath against her ear is nice, she thinks. She likes the weight of him on her like this.

“Vena,” she whispers. He turns his head and kisses her jaw before he lifts his face enough to look at her. Her hands come around to frame his face and she runs her thumbs affectionately along his cheekbones. She loves his face, she thinks. She looks into his eyes and her breath catches. They are beautiful. She loves the way his eyes light up when he laughs and she thinks she loves the look he’s giving her now the most. Affectionate, and heavy lidded.

_I love you_. He had said to her. He face colors at the memory and she leans up to kiss him. Her hands are back in his hair. She likes kissing him, she thinks. She kissed another hunter when she was still with the clan once. She likes this much much better.

Vena’s hands hold her hips and his thumbs move in lazy circles. He rests his forehead against hers. “Are you okay?” His voice is low and Ana brings her fingers up brush his lips. She loves his lips, too. They way they move when he speaks, when they move against her own lips. His mouth against her… She colors again. She thinks she wouldn’t mind tasting him, too.

“Never been better,” she tells him. She can’t help but smile despite the color creeping it’s way up her face again. His own quirk upwards at that.

“Good.” He says as he pulls himself off her.

She lets out a noise of protest at the loss of his arms and his warmth. His grin spreads, slightly smug and amused. His arms are back before long, however. He lies down right next to her and pulls her to him. She rests her head against his chest and sighs, satisfied as their limbs tangle. The beating of his heart against her ear is reassuring. He begins to hum another tune. She doesn’t know this one, she realizes. She loves his voice. Even if it might be off key when he sings sometimes, she loves it. She loves his laugh and the way he says her name. She blushes, remembering her name on his lips, his voice low as he sighed her name against her ear. She nuzzles into the crook of his neck and he tightens his grip on her.

He kisses her head and she can feel him smile against her. He is beautiful, she reminds herself and she is…

Well.

Ana trails kisses up his collar to this jawline. He loves her, she remembers. It’s unbelievable to her that he does. She wants to be enough. She hopes she’s enough.

“Hey,” he says softly. The sound of his voice makes her breath catch. He pulls back enough to look at her face. Soft eyes, strong grip on her waist, all familiar yet so foreign at the same time. They’ve always been close, hugging and cuddling came easily to them, but his skin against hers is new and comforting all things considered. She feels safe here. She feels…

Ana leans up and captures his lips. She marvels at the small sound of surprise he lets loose. The kiss is soft and careful, like he is right now. Like he was a little while ago. She wants to be soft, she wants to be kind. She wants to be enough. He is far from perfect, she knows. He doesn’t have to be. Vena is Vena, and he loves her, she reminds herself.

“I love you, too.” She says,  _so, so much_. The hitch in his breath makes her heart flutter.

 

~

 

When Vena invited Elanna over for bros movie day on a Thursday, she thought she was in for a night of movies with all her bros in the house. She was also advised to dress in her comfiest pajamas, so she throws on one of Vena’s own shirts she’s fond of sleeping in, some fluffy pajama pants, and her halla themed slippers. She even brings an array of healthy snack. Celery sticks, hummus, some papaya smoothies, kale smoothies, a fruit selection, and carrots. She packs a bottle of her own homemade Aloe water.

Ana figured the boys would have nothing but an unhealthy selection of chips, terrible sodas, and beer. She was right, of course. She walks into the house to see Aelynthi shuffling through Netflix and Tasallir is scowling at the pillow fort under construction, as well as the food on the coffee table that has been moved to the side. He approves of the buffet Ana brings with her, however. Adannar is trying to chase a pillow Flower is running around with, and she can hear Thenvunin tuck in his finches for the night. Dirthamen strides in wearing striped purple pajama pants and a shirt with a math pun on it. Thenvunin questions her about her pajamas. She knows her shirt basically reaches her knees, and the sleeves are very long, but they’re so comfortable.

She settles with Aelynthi to help him pick out a movie, as they discuss one of the Mass Effect books. Uthvir comes in around the same time and joins in on the conversation, as does Dirthamen.

“Ana-bo-bana!”

Ana turns her head to see Vena stride in, confident as ever, in a banana onesie. Tasallir looks like he swallowed a lemon. Lemon Face, as Ana affectionately dubbed it. Aelynthi doesn’t look any better. Uthvir glances at Ana, waiting for her reaction. She… Doesn’t know how to react, so she just kind of stares. Before she can recover, Taz is busy arguing with Vena about his choice of dress. Aelynthi pulls on her sleeve.

“This is the man you’ve picked, you know. No backing out now.”

Ana bursts into a fit of laughter, and Vena looks plenty satisfied at that.

 

~

 

Elanna still has nightmares about that day. The day her parents stepped out and didn’t come back. She remembers it with such clarity. The scarf her mother donned was green and the color of her fathers shirt was brown. It was a sunny day, and they dressed her in a blue dress. She was wearing her mothers old necklace. Her mother smiled and kissed her goodbye as she was taken to the alienage harhen’s home and her father poked her side and said  _be good, da'vhenan._

She remembers the lesson that day was on the importance of the vhenadahl. It must have been no longer than 3 hours later when there was a commotion in the square and screaming, before it was all dead quiet. She remembers the harhen’s sheet white face as he slowly made his way to the door. His oldest daughter herded the other children upstairs. She remembers being told to keep quiet. Ana is good at that. She fidgets with the hem of her dress. One of the other kids began to cry and Ana thought it would be a good idea to hug them, to keep them quiet like they were told to be.

There were sirens blaring not too long after, and lots of people talking. Ana thinks it should be okay to peek out the window. It felt like time just stopped as she sees her mothers green scarf stained with red. Red? Why red? What’s happening? She jumps slightly when the harhen’s daughter picks her up and moves her away from the window.

~

Ana remembers being told that her parents can’t come home. They told her her parents would become trees, like the vhenadahl. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t, she just felt a numbness. The other children went home, but she didn’t. She was given a new set of clothes and a small mattress on the floor to sleep on. She didn’t sleep, though.

The harhen was talking quietly as his daughter cries. He wants to send her away, she hears, to Ostwick probably. His daughter wants her to stay. She doesn’t like either option. She just wants her parents.

She hears that it was a nobleman’s son. She knows he hates elves, and the noble man hates elves, too. A lot of the humans would call her mother knife ear in the street, and they would call Ana rabbit. Sometimes they would spit at her fathers feet, but he would just smile and say  _it’s okay, they’re not hurting anyone._

_Oh, but they did,_  Ana thinks.

~

She remembers Uncle Varvin taking her far away from the alienage, and from the nobles who hated elves. She cried then, not for being taken away, but for her parents who were taken from her. Uncle Varvin said that he would take care of her, but Ana figured he needed taking care of, too.

Elanna remembers clan Ghilain, and how most of its members were kind. Some were bitter, and it bothered her uncle. Eventually they warmed up to Ana, though. She remembers her uncle crying sometimes because of what happened to her parents. She asked him one day why elves were hated, she knew there were laws in place that would protect elves, but no one seemed to want to follow them.

“That was not supposed to happen, da'len. What happened to your parents was a tragedy that isn’t supposed to happen.” He told her. “You are an elf, and you will always be an elf. Take pride in what you are, Elanna. The rest of the world may not, but be proud of who you are. Be careful, however. Too much pride is blinding, and many of the dalish forget that, da'len. Surround yourself with people different from you. You would be surprised by what you could teach and what you could learn from them.”

Uncle Varvin taught her everything he knew, and supported her when she became a hunter. She learned to hunt and did it well. The keeper was very pleased, so she earned herself a place in the clan.

He sent her off to college right after high school. She remembers his unconditional support and love for whatever she set her mind to. She loved her uncle, even without the circumstances of their meeting, she thinks she would have loved him no matter what.

He called her every night. “Be careful on your own, Elanna.” He would say. “Don’t walk around alone in the dark.” He warned. “Please, take care of yourself. Carry something to defend yourself with, da'vhenan. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

_This isn’t supposed to happen._

The adrenaline is waring down as Ana stumbles toward her apartment building. It’s dark, very dark, and she isn’t even sure of the time anymore. She knows it is well passed midnight, though. She can feel the pain now fully, and it really fucking hurts. She applies pressure to her side, as her coat soaks up the blood.

The last 15 minutes are a blur of adrenaline and pain. She doesn’t even remember what happened exactly. All she knows is that someone pulled a knife on her and she was quick enough to dodge, but slow enough to get cut in the end. She managed to knock out whoever it was and run away. She makes a mental checklist for herself as she stumbles through the dark.

_Apply direct pressure.  
Clean.  
Call someone._

_Apply direct pressure.  
Clean.  
Call someone._

She leans against a wall, blood stained hands fumbling with the locks which finally give way. Her hands are back at the wound.  _Apply direct pressure_. She makes her way into the elevator and closes her hands around the handle and pulls the door shut. She presses the button for her floor and brings her hands back to her side.  _Apply direct pressure_.

She stumbles her way into the apartment after fumbling a little with the locks and makes her way to the second room where she stores her supplies. She begins look for some salves Selene gave her recipes for. She throws off her clothes, all sticky with blood, and begins to wash and apply salves and bandages.  _Clean_. The wound isn’t fatal, but it is deep. At most she’s going to need stitches. The bleeding has stopped, at least. Ana has suffered through many wounds like this in the past. Accidents happen on the hunt, she reminds herself. One hunter was unlucky enough to get an arrow through his calf one time. Friendly fire is a thing, this is not so different.

The adrenaline has drained fully and she is slumped against the bath tub. Exhaustion is taking over, and she can see spots in her vision.  _Call someone_ , she remembers. Ana manages to fish her cellphone out of the pocket of her discarded coat. She doesn’t know who she called, or if they even answered, but she only managed to let out a raspy  _help_  before exhaustion took over completely.

  
~

 

He’s chowing down on some killer pizza when his phone starts playing the Minion’s Banana Song. He knows the whole banana thing is just a joke between Vena and Ana, but he likes it, and kinda now associates bananas with them now. Vena got Hollaback Girl as his ringtone.

Adannar scrambles for a napkin, quickly wiping his fingers clean before answering the phone.

“Ana my mana!” That’s another thing he’s picked up from Vena, the rhyming. 

“Help?” He sits up straighter at her voice. She sounds so weak and distant.

“Ana, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” He’s already hopping off of the bar stool in the kitchen and shoving his feet into shoes.

“I-I, there’s a lot of blood. Can you help?” 

“Okay, Ana, I’m coming. Are you at your apartment?”

“Yes?”

“Okay, you stay awake, alright? I know it sounds nice to sleep, but you gotta stay awake. Keep pressure on the wound, okay?”

“My hand…I’m gonna go now.”

“Ana, no- 

The line clicks off. This is bad. Really bad. 

“VENAVISMI!” He shouts, just a bit of panic in his voice as he throws a coat on and goes rummaging in the downstairs bathroom for the first aid kit.

“What the hell, bro, calling me by my full name.”

“It’s Ana, I think she’s hurt. She called, said there was a lot of blood. She was a bit incoherent.”

At ‘hurt’ Vena is already putting his shoes on. 

They run into Adannar’s car and Adannar tells Vena to call Serahlin and tell her to pick up Selene and take her to Ana’s.

Vena calls, explains the situation.

“She’s on her way.” 

Adannar nods as he turns down the street, reviewing all the first aid he learned when he became a certified lifeguard. It’s better to think about that than about blue and red flashing lights and police officers holding his hand. 

No, he needs to focus on Ana. 

They arrive at her apartment and waste no time in running in. The door’s unlocked. That’s not good. 

They find her in the bathroom, slumped against the bath tub.

“Ana,” Vena breathes and is immediately by her side, gently touching her face and cupping jaw.

“Ana, Ana, Ana, wake up, please, baby, wake up,” he coos. 

Adannar sits by her and looks for the wound, finding a deep laceration on her upper abdomen. If she was taller, it would have been lower, as it is, the knife must have slipped just under the ribs in a downward fashion. She’s soaked through the bandage and she’s going to need a transfusion probably, due to her size.

She’s done a good job of patching herself up somehow, but he applies more anti-septic and begins to apply more pressure.

“She’s gonna need a hospital, bro,” Adannar whispers. Vena nods and fishes out his cell phone.

“Hello, 911? My friend needs an ambulance…”

Ana’s eyes start to blink open and a weird expression almost like a smile takes over her face as she looks up at Vena. 

“Venaa? What are you doing here?” Her voice is hoarse and she coughs, flinching at the pain in her abdomen.

“Ow.”

“I’m helping you, Banana. I got you. We got you.” He tells her quickly before returning to the emergency operator. 

“Hey, Ana, look at me,” Adannar calls, not wanting her to pass out on them again.

Her motions are slow and sticky and he bites his reaction back to cry as memories of how his mamae had moved come back to him.  _No, focus on Ana. Ana._

“Addy?”

“Yeah, it’s me, and Serahlin and Selene are coming too. We’re all gonna help you.”

“Really? That’s very nice.” Her eyes begin to flutter close again but Vena nuzzles at her head and touches her face to keep her awake. 

“Oh,” she tries to lean again Vena more prominently, but it strains her abdomen, pushing more blood out. 

“ _Oooh.”_ The door opens and feminine voices call out.

“Ana? Adannar? Vena?” Serahlin calls as Selene rushes into the bathroom, a bag in hand.

“Ana? Gods, what happened to you?” She begins to rifle through the bag and pull out various tools and instruments to begin.

“She needs a transfusion, Vena’s on with the emergency operator.” Selene joins him at the wound and he lets her take over, she’s the trained healer after all. She curses and casts a small healing spell over the area, helping to stop the bleeding.

“You’re right, she needs blood. Anybody think to bring Aelynthi? No? Shit.” 

They fuss during the ten minutes it takes an ambulance to arrive. She passes out again, causing Vena to nearly panic. His hands never leave her, even when she is being loaded onto a stretcher and into the back of the ambulance.

“I’m going with her,” he declares, hopping in after her. No one fights him. Adannar wants to offer to drive but his hands…they’re bloody and shaking and while he wants to focus on Ana, he keeps seeing his mother’s hair on Ana’s head. Keeps feeling his mother’s arm under his fingers. 

Serahlin offers to drive and he’s grateful.

The night is long and rough. Ana is given blood, the damage is repaired and they want to keep her for the next day as well, for observation. Over time, the rest of the fraternity shows up. Even some of Serahlin’s sorority shows up.

They practically fill the waiting room, all anxious to see her. Around three, Vena starts to cry. Not great heaving sobs, but quiet tears glowing down his cheeks. And to everyone’s surprise, it’s Tasallir who sits by him and takes his hand, not questioning or demanding, but simply being  _there_.

Tasallir is a good bro, Adannar thinks. It would have been nice to have him all those years ago when the kids would pick on him because he would sometimes just…cry at recess or in class or at lunch. Cry-Baby Adannar, but Tasallir won’t do that to Vena. He gets it. This is hard, and it’s okay to cry.

The doctor comes out around four and tells them that she’s going to make a full recovery, but that she’s sleeping now so visiting isn’t really allowed. Vena asks if he can sleep in her room. The doctor says no, but that Vena can sleep in one of the on-call rooms by her room if he wants, and he takes the offer. 

After that, they’re told to go home and Adannar can’t really disagree. He’ll check on Ana tomorrow, when she wakes up. His body is tired and he doesn’t know long he can keep this up. 

He doesn’t see this waiting room, all nice and done in purple hues, he sees the green one at Our Lady’s Mercy. He didn’t see Ana on the stretcher, but his mamae. 

Serahlin drives Selene and him home, and opts to stay the night with Adannar. He’s proud of himself, he’s able to make it to his room before collapsing on the ground, sobbing. 

Slim arms come around him and hug him tightly as he finally loses the battle and sees everything, feels everything. Serahlin coos at him, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances until the sun comes up. She guides him into bed and climbs in with him. Class can wait. Their professors will understand. He holds onto her tightly as he drifts into a fitful sleep.

 

~

 

Hospitals smell of antiseptic, blood, and a hint of flowers. When Elanna awoke the next morning, it was to a beeping noise from the big machine next to her. She panics a little bit, because the only other time she had been at the hospital was back when her uncle died. She went to thank all the nurses and doctors who tried to help him. Even if they couldn’t save him, they tried everything they could do to.

A nurse entered not long after and started asking her questions about how she was feeling, and what happened. Elanna answered them to the best of her abilities. She was left alone again with a pudding cup, apple juice, and cookies.

“You need to build up some strength,” the nurse told her. She’s nice, Ana thinks, and accepts the food stuffs.

The beeping noise next to her persists. Elanna decides she doesn’t like hospitals.

Not too long after, her door opens again and a very tired looking Vena enters. She feels bad. He sinks into the chair next to the bed.

“You look awful,” she jokes. His lips quirk up a little, and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. She holds out the pudding cup to him. He looks at the label that reads  _All Natural Vanilla Pudding,_ with a logo plastered across the center. He shakes his head and she retracts the treat.

“It should be banana pudding, to help banana’s get better,” he says. She laughs, but the pain that shoots through her makes it short lived. There is worry in Vena’s brow again, so she extends her hand and pokes his forehead.

“Wrinkles,” she warns, “I don’t want wrinkles spoiling your beautiful face just yet.” She watches as a smile takes over his features.

She is admitted out not long after that. It is still fairly early in the morning, and she sends out a text message on their shared group chat from Vena’s phone that she will visit the house when she’s more presentable, and feeling less like the hospital drowned her in antiseptic. Besides, her clothing is not… ideal. Ana is wearing her leggings and an oversized shirt belonging to someone in the fraternity. Vena tells her that Thenvunin was thoughtful enough to bring her a set of clothes, or was it Tasallir’s idea? Even he isn’t sure. She doesn’t blame him.

~

Vena takes her home and offers to help her up to her apartment, but she sends him off. She remembers a lot of blood, and she would rather not subject him to it again. He needs to rest, too. “Be careful,” he says as she exits the car.

“Hey, Elanna,” she hears as she’s walking past the mailboxes. She turns to see her downstairs neighbor. He’s a human and what was his name again? Hai - Hayden? Hayden, that’s right.

“Hey… Den,” she offers. He lets out a laugh.

“Are you okay? I know it must’ve been really rough, and you’ve probably heard that question a lot but you can’t blame a guy for worrying,” he says. That’s sweet, Ana thinks.

“I haven’t heard it enough to be sick of it yet, so you’re okay. I’m fine, though,” she says. His smile widens as he nods and offers to help her upstairs. He’s going the same way, so Ana lets him. He doesn’t ask any more questions about the previous nights adventure, and for that she’s thankful.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I’m right downstairs if you need anything,” he says one last time as they stand at the front door of Elanna’s apartment. She nods.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve handled worse,” she admits. With that his brows knit together and he stammers a bit.

“Seriously? What do you mean ‘worse?’” Ana just finds herself just shrugging at the question.

“Growing up a dalish hunter has its accidents,” she says. “There was one unfortunate hunter who got an arrow straight through his calf, and one time I almost got a bear hug, if you know what I mean,” Hayden’s face is showing hints of purple now, and Ana offers an sheepish “hashtag dalish problems?”

“Sweet Andraste,” he whispers as he leaves for the stairwell.

~

Ana spends time trying to clean out the blood in the bathroom. It’s dried and it sticks to the tiles and the bathtub as she tries to scrub it out without straining the stitches on her side. She finds her phone on the bathroom floor, also bloody. She cleans it and sets about checking her messages. There are a lot. Everyone answered the group message with their own versions of  _glad you’re alive, are you okay_  and  _can’t wait to see you_. Thenvunin especially responded with an array of party popper emojis and smiley faces. Selene reminds her to drink lots of water and to eat and not to forget medicine. Ana thinks she’ll bake them all hearth cakes.

~

It’s still before noon after Elanna manages a very careful shower, and spends the next 30 minutes applying various ointments and salves. She double checks the stitches, and concludes that the skin is definitely going to leave a nasty scar. She has a couple scars of her own on other places, faded and old, but this one might remain the most prominent. If her products can help it, she will try them when the wound isn’t so fresh, she decides. She applies a clean bandage to wrap around her midsection and decides she wants coffee. She throws on one of Vena’s shirts he left the last time he was over,  _they’re mine now_ , she thinks.

Ana stares at the coffee beans sitting on the top shelf of her kitchen. She stretches to try and get it, but the wound on her side shoots a bolt of pain up her body, so she relents. She looks at her empty cup reading  _Good Morning Pumpkin_ and scrunches her nose. No coffee today, she thinks. Maybe she shouldn’t let her tall friends help her with groceries. A knock at her door startles her. She makes her way toward the peep hole and sees… chest. Huh. Either they’re really tall, or they’re standing on their toes.

She barely cracks open the door and peeks her head out slightly. The man in front of her is a towering figure, muscular, and tattooed.

“Elanna,” the man greets. Ana recognizes the voice from multiple phone conversations and she can’t help smile.

“Well, well,” she says, throwing the door open wider as he steps in. He has to duck to enter. “Victory,” she greets as he drops his duffle bag and Ana lets him wrap her in a hug. He’s careful about her wound, and for that she’s grateful.

“How are you? All okay?” He asks. Ana nods as he lets her go.

“I’ve been better but I’m alive. I can’t complain much, and I’ve got my friends to thank for that,” she admits. Victory offers a warm smile and lays a hand on her head.

“Good,” he says. “Do you know what happened at all?” Ana’s brows knit together as she tries to recall what happened.

“Uh.. I was out getting some samples on the trail, and it was dark, I had a flashlight which I guess I dropped when I used it to defend myself. We aren’t allowed weapons on school owned properties and while this property isn’t exactly on campus, it’s still owned by the university,” she explains. Victory nods as Ana leads him to the living room. “Ah, I didn’t really have much time to think on it. Can I offer you something to drink first?”

He accepts and Ana goes back into the kitchen to prepare two cups of coffee, which Victory is happy to bring down for her. The two fall into a rhythm of preparing coffee and toast. Victory takes over the stove to make them some eggs as he whisks them together in a bowl and Ana begins chopping up some vegetables. She is moving slower than usual but it is not a difficult task.

~

They eat and talk about various things. Half way through their meal Elanna’s phone chimes.

—>  _I’m coming to check on you… making my way up now_

_— > I hope u have eaten. its okay i have food i can make for you_

_— > have you showered? do you need help with that?_

“Shit. Victory!” Ana says and shows him the series of texts from Selene. They both startle when there’s a knock on the front door.

“Ana! Are you there? It’s me, Selene.”

The two look at each other and Ana brings her finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet as he nods. They very quietly stand up from the table when there’s a second series of knocks.

“I’ll be right there, Selene!” Ana calls out as she leads Victory into her second room and closes the door. She kicks his duffle bag under the couch and lets a blanket hang over the edge so it’s not noticeable. A third series of knocks and Ana knows her friend is getting a little impatient. She opens the door to Selene with her brow raised and a bag of some groceries. Ana very tentatively lets her in.

“Good morning,” Elanna offers, albeit a little too cheerfully. Selene raises a brow at her. “So, what can I do for you?” The other woman shakes her head.

“I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re recovering,” Selene says.

“Well, I’m doing just as well as you could expect someone in my predicament to be doing,” Ana replies. Selene lets out a sigh and sets about unloading her bag on the kitchen counter.

“I see you’ve eaten,” Selene says and looks over at the table, where Victory’s plate and cup are sitting. She raises a brow at the extra set, and Ana’s stomach does a flip.

Shit.

“My neighbor! Hayden was here, and he had to run before you came. Something about Andraste,” Ana struggles to recall her earlier conversation with the man. Selene doesn’t question it so she figures the story was bought.

“So, he’s a devout Andrastian?” Selene asks as she puts some vegetables into the refrigerators drawers.

“I-I mean… as devout as the next Andrastian, I suppose. I don’t know… religion isn’t really a topic we discuss,” Ana says. T _echnically there isn’t any topic we discuss_ , she thinks. Selene drops it there as she closes the fridge and stands up.

“Can I see it?” She asks gesturing to the wound on Ana’s abdomen.

“I just bandaged it up an hour ago, Selene. It’s fine.  _I’m_  fine,” Ana says. “I promise.” Selene’s brows come down, and she’s doing this thing with her lips, where they’re a thin line, and it makes Ana remember the time she fell and hurt herself as a young girl, and her mother gave her the same look. She sighs and pulls up her t-shirt.

Selene makes quick work of leading Elanna to her bedroom and undoing the bandages. She looks like a real healer, Ana thinks. Focused and soft at the same time. She checks the stitches and the tender skin and casts a soothing spell. The doctors had advised to refrain from heavy healing spells since the knife seemed to cut close to the organs. Once Selene is satisfied, she wraps Ana up in clean bandages pulls her shirt back down.

“See? I’m fine,” Ana says. Selene nods and pulls out another salve from her bag.

“This should help with redness and scarring,” she says “use it when it closes up a little more,” she says and sets the bottle on the table next to her bed. “You still have the salves I gave you last time, right? I can go check.” Selene stands up and begins to make her way to the second room down the hall. Elanna all but bolts past her friend and throws herself against the door and winces a little at the pain. Selene’s brows go up.

“I-It’s a real mess in there Selene, you don’t want to see it,” Ana says loudly, to make sure Victory can hear her.

“Don’t be silly, Ana. I know you don’t normally like people in that room but a little mess never bothered me,” Selene says. Ana figures that if she protests too much, her friend would just get more and more suspicious, so she relents and hopes Victory found a good enough hiding spot in that room. Selene takes hold of the handle and swings the door open. A cold draft is all that greets them as Selene brings her hands up to her shoulders and makes her way to one of the shelves. Elanna walks past her friend toward the open window. There are vines creeping against the window sill and walls while hanging pots from the ceiling are swaying. The maps on the wall near her work table are undisturbed, and the books on her shelves are in place.

Ana leans over the window sill and sees Victory climbing over the railing of the fire escape. She gestures for him to climb up to the terrace and he does. He moves very fast and silently for someone of his size, Ana thinks. She closes the window as Selene triumphantly holds up a bottle.

“Use this for now,” she advices and Ana takes the stuff from her friend and ushers her out of the room.

~

Selene leaves not long after. She makes Ana promise to text her if there are any complications whatsoever. Elanna agrees and hugs her friend. She closes the door and rushes to the other side of the room to access the fire escape. Ana makes her way up to the terrace to see Victory sitting on one of the lawn chairs, giving her a shaky thumbs up. It is cold, and Ana leads him back inside to make him a hot cup of cocoa.

 

~

 

“So, what do you remember?”

Elanna looks down and her brows come together in thought. The coffee cup in her hands has gone cold. Her books sit unopened and her phone chimes with a message from Vena. She’s supposed to ignore it for now. Glory sits across from her along with their fiancee Desire, and Uthvir is leaning against a nearby shelf simply watching. Serahlin had insisted she get her story together. Templar propaganda says that Elanna deliberately stabbed herself to perform some type of blood ritual. Complete and utter bullshit, she knows, but without her own story straight it’s what everyone is beginning to adopt as fact.

“I remember… the trail in the forest. I was collecting samples and certain plants behave differently at night, I wanted to study that,” she begins. Desire begins to scribble down something and Ana watches her hands move. “Uh… Wait, is Desire is writhing all this down?”

“Of course,” Desire says. “Call me Squish, by the way.”

“Oh, damn cool nickname. Why didn’t I think of that,” Ana mumbles as Squish snickers and Glory taps a fingernail against the tables surface.

“So you were doing something for school, then?” Glory asks to get back on subject. Ana quickly nods.

“I was out pretty late, and I was making my way home when I heard snow crunch…

~

It was cold, and Elanna stopped moving at the sound. Suspicious, no one should be out at this time. She knows it is closing in on midnight, so it must be the wildlife. She begins checking off all the wildlife that’s known to live around these parts.  _Nugs, Bears, Rams, Wolves,_  Brontos are rarer but they come around, she remembers. She suspects it’s a Ram. There is more movement. The weight seems off for an animal, she thinks. Ana begins moving making her way towards a rashvine nettle stalk and pretends to eye it. There is more movement, sloppy steps moving faster and she moves out of the way in time to dodge a blow.

_Shit_ , she thinks as she rolls away and rights her footing in time to dodge another swing. Ana grips her flashlight. A man, she notices. He is clad in black with the hood up over his head and a mask around the bottom half of his face. He grips his weapon strangely, she observes. He goes for a stab and she drops low and extends her leg to sweep it under his and he loses balance and falls. Ana takes the opportunity to flee, with her attacker not far behind.

She runs off the path and through the forrest, pushing branches out of the way. She knows these woods well, and she knows where she’s going. He does not. If she could just lose him… Her leg gets caught on a tree root and she falls into the snow. She can hear the footsteps, and see the glint off his weapon as he charges. Elanna doesn’t have time to right herself so she lifts her upper body and her hands grab hold of his collar while she places her foot firmly against his abdomen and throws him over her into a bush. She rights herself and begins fleeing in a different direction. She still has her flashlight and grips it firmly.

Ana is back on the path, but what path? She barely has a split second to make a decision before she feels someones grip in her hair and they pull hard _._ She lets out a scream as she feels cold metal against the flesh of her abdomen. She can see his toothy smile behind the mask.

_This isn’t supposed to happen._

She takes her flashlight and smacks it against his head as hard as she possibly can. She feels his grip on her hair fall slack and she lets him fall to the ground. Ana sinks to the ground too and promptly pulls the weapon out of her and tosses it into the snow. She brings her hands over to the wound. Trembling hands pushing at the cut, as she lets out another scream. She is alone in the forrest with no one to hear her.

_Apply direct pressure._

_~_

“Did you get a look at their face?” Glory asks as Squish scribbles down more notes.

“No. There was a mask, he was in a black hoodie with the hood pulled. He didn’t even say anything.”

“So it was a male,” Squish confirms.

“Yes, his physique was masculine, not too different from Uthvir’s but human,” she says gesturing to her friend. “He was taller though.”

“Everyone is taller than us,” Uthvir drawls, and Ana can’t help but laugh. Glory hums in thought as Squish scribbles stuff down and Glory looks… unsatisfied.

“Thats it?” They ask. “Do you know what the Templars are saying about you?” Ana feels a surge of annoyance and slams her palm against the table making everyone jump slightly.

“I am well aware of what they are saying about me,” she states. “This is what I can offer, and it is all I can remember. The man was clad in black and uncomfortable holding a small knife. He obviously has training in larger weapons and the way his footing worked, he was probably not the right sort of person to send on a stealth attack. He looked genuinely surprised when I dodged the first swing so it was meant to be quick. I don’t know what he looked like. It was dark and when the police showed up at the scene hours later, he was gone.” She says. Her phone chimes again. “I’ve already relayed all of this to the police and the Templars can say whatever they gods damn please. I am not even a mage. Once that is debunked, people will stop believing in their half-assed story.” She lets out a steadying breath as Glory relaxes in their seat.

“Right, well. A lead is a lead, we can probably dig deeper into it and try to add more of a description to your attacker. Given that he was hiding his face, and the templars that jumped Aelynthi earlier this week also attacked in similar attire, it’s possibly a link.” Glory says as Squish digs through her bag and produces a card.

“Contact us if there is anything else you can provide, then.” Squish says. Ana takes the card and stows it safely in her wallet and nods. Glory stands up and Squish follows suit. They extend a hand to Ana and she shakes it, bidding them farewell.

Once they leave the room, Ana lays her head on the table. This is exhausting, she thinks. She’s had to sit through multiple police interrogations and now there will be more to come. When she hears the chair next to her scrape against the terrible carpeted floor of the library, she turns her head to see Uthvir sink into it. They look down at her and she carefully brings herself back upright, hissing a little as the wound stretches at her side.

“You know, the Templars seem to think because you have vallaslin it makes you a blood mage,” they tell her. Ana lets out a humorless laugh.

“Oooh scary blood writing. Many people are ignorant on dalish culture, or any culture that isn’t their own. If they actually thought to educate themselves…” Ana sighs. Her phone chimes again and she finally picks it up to read texts from Vena. She tells him that she’s at the library with Uthvir and takes a photograph as proof. Not that proof is required, she knows it makes him worry less when there is photographic evidence though.

Her friends have taken shifts in making sure she’s not alone for any extended amount of time. It wasn’t easy convincing them that she is fine in her own home. Vena even offered to move in temporarily. She can’t complain, because if someone else were in her position… If it was  _Vena_  instead of her…

She lets out another sigh and lays her head back on the table before hissing at the pain. Uthvir startles next to her.

“I really need to stop doing that,” she says as she slowly rights herself in her chair. Uthvir snorts at her side and she turns to look at them. “Don’t laugh at me, Spikey. Interrogations suck.”

 

~

 

 It’s still chilly out. 

Winter may be ending on the calendar, but Victory thinks that the weather didn’t quite get the memo. Well, he’s used to the cold, and surviving in harsh environments. Still, it isn’t ideal, not when a minute ago he’d been sitting on a comfy couch drinking hot chocolate.

But his boyfriend and some of his housemates had decided to come visit, so Victory’s on the fire escape, wondering if he ought to go up to the roof again. But it’s begun to snow, and the fire escape provides more shelter against the wind.

So here he is, mug in hand—he’d had the wherewithal to take it with him at least—listening to the muffled voices inside and trying to pick out Aelynthi’s. He’s so lovesick it’s physically painful. It’s so hard to just sit out here and not go running in. But…but it needs to be a surprise for Wintersend. He has to be  _patient_!

He’s just glad that he’s been using a different shampoo, because Aelynthi’s got the nose of a bloodhound and would be able to sniff him out in ten seconds otherwise. And that would ruin the entire surprise.

No, Wintersend is going to be  _perfect_. He’s going to make sure of it. He hasn’t spent every moment not on-duty learning how to dance for nothing. And he didn’t spend a ludicrous amount of money on that tailored suit with a tie and pocket square and dress-shirt matched perfectly with Aelynthi’s own suit not to show it off.

Plus Ana’s been working so hard to help plan it all. It would be a waste of all her hard work.

Victory is a good listener. And there isn’t much to do, when you’ve had to hastily climb out a window to avoid your own boyfriend. So when he hears a raised voice through the open window of the apartment one floor down, he leans forward to hear better.

He has nothing else to do while he drinks his cocoa, after all.

“—well things didn’t go according to plan, ok? It was dark. I didn’t think she’d fight back.”

That…that is not a normal conversation to be having over the phone. It doesn’t click, right away, what the boy in the other apartment is talking about. He doesn’t connect the dots. At most he just thinks,  _“this asshat is talking about accosting someone”_  which is warning enough that he probably needs to look into it.

He places his mug down and inches over, grabbing onto the ledge nearby as a handhold before lowering himself down. He’s always been nimble for his size, which is good here where he’s got about three centimeters of ledge to balance on. He’s almost to the window when the boy begins talking again. “She hit me with her flashlight! I still have a bruise, dammit.”

Victory pauses, going cold. Not from the weather, but the cold numbness he settles into when he’s got a mission. When he can’t be a good person anymore.

The person on the other end says something, loud enough that Victory can tell they’re shouting even if he can’t understand the words. He’s at the window now, and peers in quickly, taking a scope of the room before moving out of the line of sight.

Tall, sandy blonde hair, dark tanned skin. He’s got a bit of muscle on him, in all the places typical of Templar training. You can always tell with them; used to wielding large weapons, not any formal hand-to-hand. The kind of guy that thinks lifting is all you need to do to be strong.

He’s pacing back and forth in the living room, which is separated from the kitchen by a half-wall. He’s not paying attention, head down, turned toward the rest of the living room and away from the window. An easy target.

The window isn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but Victory has slipped through tighter spots. It takes a little shift and proper angling, and then his feet touch the linoleum floor.

The boy hasn’t noticed him yet. He’s walking through the living room, still chatting. “We’ll need to regroup then. But Meredith said no one should do anything else until she gets back from Kirkwall.”

Ah yes, that’s right. The bitch that attacked Aelynthi, who he’d planned on murdering discreetly upon his arrival before stopping by Ana’s. But right before he’d arrived he’d learned she’d attacked Serahlin and after some legal issues, had gone home to Kirkwall to ‘recover’ while the chantry erased all evidence of a hate crime. The biggest punishment that had been handed down had been Meredith being unable to attend the Wintersend Ball. Which was a smart move, because he would have murdered her then and probably ruined the night for everyone.

Well, he’s needed to beat someone up for a while now. And this way he won’t have to feel bad about it.

“I get it. Alright. We’ll talk tomorrow,” The boy huffs and hangs up. He reaches down to stuff his phone in his pocket just as Victory reaches over the half-wall divider. One hand goes over his mouth, the other around his waist.

It doesn’t take much to pull him over into the kitchen, even with his flailing. Victory’s got his arms pinned down, so he can do little more than kick and wiggle. All that lifting isn’t going to help him now, when he can’t break out of Victory’s hold.

He feels the air go a bit heavy for a brief second, and he nearly laughs. Did this idiot really think to try and reinforce reality around someone that could snap his neck? If Victory had been a mage, the idiot would have been dead already, and not from a physical attack like this.

This boy is young, and unexperienced, and a fool.

He’s also a racist bigot that stabbed Ana. So Victory doesn’t have much pity for him.

“You and I are going to have a nice little talk,” Victory murmurs as he drags him back toward the window. He reaches over to the counter, where the boy’s left the stereo remote, and turns it on. Some hip-hop music that Victory doesn’t recognize starts blaring from the speakers. He turns it up a bit for good measure.

It isn’t enough for the neighbors to complain about the volume, but aloud enough to mask everything but the most blood-curdling of screams. And there are gags for that. But by that point, any information he’ll be getting out of this quivering sack of shit will be likely incorrect. He’ll just say whatever he wants to make the pain stop.

Psychological torture is more effective if he wants to know anything.

And things could get bloody, and he doesn’t think he has the time to clean all that off the carpets. Ana might get suspicious if he isn’t still on the fire escape when the others leave.

The boy has stopped thrashing out, at least.

“You see, you and I, I think we might have a bit in common,” Victory continues. “So if I take my hand off your mouth, we can talk nicely, can’t we? We wouldn’t want your neighbor to hear. Because the moment you start squealing like a stuck pig, I might just have to cut you like one.”

He doesn’t have a weapon on him at the moment, but there’s a butter knife in the dish drain next to the sink he could use if needed.

The man trembles a bit, and gives a small nod.

The moment Victory lets go, he whirls around to face him, blabbering, “Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything to anyone. I know I messed up. Don’t tell Meredith—who are  _you_?”

“Not who you were expecting, it seems,” Victory murmurs looking down at the wide-eyed man. “Does Meredith always send thugs to deal with people who fail her?”

“I’m not talking to you, you knife-eared bastard,” The boy’s frightened demeanor turns hateful, face twisting into a snarl.

Victory grabs the boy and pins him against the sink, slamming his face down onto the faucet tap. He hears his nose break and the boy lets out a pained gasp. “You’re going to tell me who you were talking with on the phone. And you’re going to tell me everyone involved.”

“You fucking—”

Victory turns on the garbage disposal, and grabs one of the man’s hands from behind his back.

“STOP! Stop stop  _stop_  ok, ok,” the man shouts, loud enough to hear up close, but drowned out by the whirring of the garbage disposal blades and the hip-hop music still blaring in the background.

Garbage disposals…some human inventions have their uses.

“You see,” Victory continues smiling as he holds out the man’s hand, “Some people talk about killing others, but they can’t go through with it. It’s normal to back out, to get scared…most people just don’t have it in them to end another life. Or maybe they’re just too good to do it. My friend, the one you tried to stab the other day…she’s too good to kill someone.”

The human boy makes a garbled curse, but the words are hard to understand with the blood streaming from his nose.

“The thing is… _friend_ , I don’t have that problem. I’ve killed plenty of people, and I sleep just fine at night.” He reaches around him and glances down the sink. “And if I have to stuff you hand down the garbage disposal to get the information I want, I won’t think twice about it. Do you understand?”

He gives the boy a little shake, and he whimpers and gives a nod.

Victory loves it when people behave.

Later that day, when he climbs back through Ana’s window with his empty coffee mug, Ana asks him how he managed to clean it.

“Your neighbor was extremely welcoming.” Victory smiles. Later that night he leaves a copy of all the names he’d been given and a written confession on the desk of Glory Elvhen, and one in Serahlin’s mailbox.

 

~

 

Ana misses the hiking trails and forests she’s always grown up with. Arlathan has an abundance of nature, but it’s not the same. She misses the cool morning air of Ferelden and the evening snows in the Dales. It doesn’t matter. In Arlathan she has her family, her clan. She wouldn’t trade it for anything.

It’s early, and the sky is beginning to lighten as she feels the weight shifting in the mattress next to her as she turns her body to it. Vena moves to sit up when her hands circle his waist and pull him back.

“Good morning to you too, banana,” he says. Ana just hums and pushes herself higher on the mattress. She wraps a leg around his waist and her fingers tangle in his hair as his head rests on her chest. “I have to get ready,” he says.

“No, you don’t,” she counters quickly. “You don’t have to go anywhere today.”

“Yeah, but I have to bring tributes to the temple,” he says as his hands rest on Ana’s hip and his thumb moves back and forth over the fabric of her shirt.

“I’m sure the hearth goddess won’t care if you’re late,” she whispers. “She gets a lot of worship, as it is.” Vena hums before wrapping his arms fully around her and nuzzling the crook of her neck. She sighs as she feels him trail kisses along her skin as her grip on him tightens slightly.

They lie there for a while longer while Ana gently runs her fingers through his hair. It is very soft and it smells nice. She feels him shift slightly so she loosens her grip on him, only to find herself flipped onto her back. Vena looms above her, his hands still on her hips, and her face colors. He’s grinning and has that mischievous glint in his eye and it makes her smile, too.

“I suppose the hearth goddess wouldn’t mind if I worshiped a different kind of goddess today,” he says. Ana snorts and then bursts into a fit of laughter. His smile grows wider as she stops and looks up at him. Her eyes are bright as a few more giggles escape her.

“That has got to be your worst pass yet, vhenan,” she tells him.

“But did it work?” He waggles his brows and watches as she giggles some more before wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You’re just so lucky I love you,” she says before he captures her lips in a long, slow kiss.

“The luckiest,” he whispers.

 

~

 

On Thursday nights, Venavismi and Adannar cuddle.

It sort of started out as a joke. Thursdays used to be the one day that they both had more or less free from rowing, and most classes, and work, and major work outs. So usually they would end up watching movies together, and then Aelynthi made one too many comments about them ‘scheduling weekly cuddles’, and now it’s actually a thing.

On Thursdays, they bust out the comfiest jammies, and the biggest, softest blankets, and pillows, and they put in whatever movies are handy, or whatever new show is making the rounds, and get all tactile. Sometimes massages happen. Naps aren’t uncommon. It’s bro bonding time, and there’s a standing invitation for anyone else in the House to come and pile in, if they want to.

Sometimes Tasallir just kind of… sits at the edge of the couch, and lets Vena coax him into brushing his hair, or helping put lotion on his back.

Sometimes Thenvunin piles in, usually with his own pillow, and especially if there’s a movie on that he likes. 

Aelynthi just kinda wordlessly shimmies his way into the proceedings after Victory gets deployed, semi-regularly, before he kind of tapers off on that again.

Dirthamen is a new one.

He hesitates, standing at the edge of the Free Cuddle Zone, while Vena secures the snacks and Adannar finishes floofing the nest; pulling a couple of couch cushions onto the floor along with the pillows and blankets. He glances at Dirthamen, and then yanks down another couch cushion.

“Plenty of room, bro!” he says. “We’re watching Shadows of Amn. Y’know, the new Baldur’s Gate series? Netflix just got it.  _Melarue’s_  in it, so of course, Vena’s been dying to see it. Aelynthi was gonna chill with us, but then he changed his mind.”

Dirthamen hesitates, but the puppy - who had previously been trying to get at the snacks Vena is securing - doesn’t have any qualms on the subject of More People. She wriggles her way out of Vena’s lap and goes bounding over to Dirthamen, and starts licking his toes.

“Should I bring refreshments?” he wonders.

“We got plenty!” Adannar assures him, and points at the coffee table. “Help yourself, bro!”

“Adannar made the popcorn, so it’s spicy,” Vena warns. Then he worm-shimmies over to the X-Box, and turns it on, and calls up the Netflix app to start playing the new series. Dirthamen ventures tentatively forward, and settles onto one of the couch cushions, as the puppy piles into his lap and starts sniffing at his shirt.

The opening sequence begins to play, and Vena heads back and settles himself on Dirthamen’s opposite side; nudging him over so that he’s sandwiched between himself and Adannar. The puppy licks his fingers, and stirring orchestral music fills the room.

The first half hour is mostly driven by snacks and the contents of the show. Dirthamen is unofficially given Puppy Minding Duties, since she has chosen him for the evening. Adannar sometimes tries to throw various snacks into his mouth, since his hands are covered in puppy slobber, while Vena rates the butts of various performances on a scale of ‘zero’ to ‘Melarue’. 

“I don’t really think it’s fair to give anyone a  _zero,_  bro, I mean, they’re doing their best,” Adannar asserts, at one point.

“Are they, though?” Vena counters. “They could work their glutes. They could wear better pants. I mean maybe costuming is letting some people down, but still. It’s not like I’m tweeting it.”

“I guess…”

The puppy brings Dirthamen a mangled stuffed llama, and the debate is distracted by a brief game of ‘tug’, as Sophie Turner is taken prisoner by mysterious wizards.

By the time the first episode is done, the puppy has retreated under the coffee table for a nap, Vena’s shirt has vanished, and Adannar has shoved a pillow onto Dirthamen’s lap and replaced his dog in resting on it.

“Dude,” Vena says, and pats Dirthamen’s head as the next episode starts. “You are at  _serious_  risk for flaky scalp. I’m gonna go borrow some of that argon oil stuff from Taz, fill me in if I miss anything good.”

“Want me to pause?” Adannar asks.

“Nah. I’ll just be a minute,” Vena replies, and indeed, he doesn’t actually outlast the title sequence before coming back with a spritzer bottle in a homemade label, and a comb.

Dirthamen is quiet, and just a little bit uncertain as Vena gently spray something onto his head, and then starts carefully combing it through. But as the comb’s teeth gently brush across his scalp, and Adannar reassuringly pats his calf, he lets out a long breath.

“Shoulder rubs after this ep?” Adannar suggests.

“Like I’m gonna say no to that,” Vena replies. He nudges Dirthamen with his knee. “You in, bro?”

“I… suppose…” Dirthamen agrees, fighting the urge to close his eyes as the comb moves gently through his hair.

This is nice, he decides.

He might come by for more Thursday Nights.

 

~

 

“…it’s not going up in the living room, bro. Where did you even  _get_ this?”

“I ordered it online. It’s limited addition! And it’s in mint condition too! Tasallir said it was fine. He said that the aesthetic fit the living room.”

Aelynthi has a bad feeling about this.

His feelings are correct when he walks through the front door to find Venavismi hanging a framed, wall-length movie poster with his nanae on it. He must make some kind of sound, because everyone turns. Thenvunin sends him an apologetic glance.

“Aelynthi! You like old movies—and art. This one is vintage. It’s from Melarue’s first film. Do you know how  _long_  ago that was? It’s a classic!”

Aelynthi makes another sound that isn’t quite human as he cringes. “Please get that out of the living room before I light it on fire.”

“You  _wouldn’t_.” Venavismi looks mortally offended at the suggestion. Adannar looks between the two, Flower panting in his lap, tail wagging as she licks his arm and begins digging through the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Don’t worry, Taz won’t let him keep it, bro,” Thenvunin tries to put in.

“This is freedom of expression! I won’t yield to anyone’s tyranny! This doesn’t violate any house rules, bro!”

“It violates so many things…” Aelynthi mutters under his breath, “I am going to drink myself into a stupor, when I come home tonight that poster had better be gone.”

“You just don’t appreciate good art, Aelynthi. I thought  _you_  would understand.” Vena doesn’t sound too terribly upset, just wistful as he runs a hand along the frame. “No one understands you like I do, Mel. Except Ana. She gets it.”

Aelynthi makes a disgusted noise, and sends Thenvunin a desperate “please get rid of it” look before turning to Adannar, “Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Huh? No.” Adannar shakes his head.

“Good, you’re going to be my drinking buddy for the evening. Let’s go. I’m paying.”

“What about me?” Vena shouts back.

“You’ve lost your mooching privileges until that thing is removed.” Aelynthi drawls, “Come on Adannar, that overpriced craft beer won’t drink itself.”

 

~

 

The game more or less starts up after Aelynthi goes to see if Vena wants to study with him, and comes back two minutes later with his face flaming, muttering darkly about ‘not enough alcohol in the world’. He procures Thenvunin for a drinking partner, but since it’s actually  _snowing sheets_  outside, the two stay in the house and start scrounging up the drinks they can find there. Which, in turn, catches the attention of the rest of the house, because Adannar’s moves all of the alcohol to where Flower can’t reach it (”what is she going to do, use a bottle opener with her paws?” Aelynthi mutters to himself) and neither he nor Thenvunin are really partial to the beers that are in the fridge.

A few minutes into this quest, Vena emerges from his rooms, looking smug and tugging along a very rumpled Splendour, a gorgeous-but-terrifyingly-tall supermodel(?) who introduces herself as Inquiry. Once Vena arrives, he immediately takes to the idea of drinks, and ropes in a few convenient unfortunates. Including Uthvir, who just sort of emerges from Thenvunin’s rooms.

“Selene’s gonna be sad she missed this,” Adannar thinks.

“She won’t be sad to have missed what  _preceded_  this,” Aelynthi counters, and starts setting up shots. Nobody really remembers, later, who suggests the drinking game. Uthvir’s the one who suggests they draw lots to decide who will go first, though, as Adannar and Vena set up a cuddle fort, and Aelynthi makes Thenvunin sit between him and Splendour.

Splendour, who draws the first lot.

There’s a long pause.

“You’re supposed to say something you’ve never done,” Vena stage-whispers at him.

“I know, I’m  _thinking,”_  Splendour replies. He taps his lip with his drawn lot. “Never have I ever… kissed a celebrity,” he finally says.

No one drinks.

At first.

“…I fucking hate you,” Aelynthi mutters, giving Splendour a dark look, and then downs a shot.

“Were you drinking because you’ve kissed a celebrity, or just to numb yourself with alcohol?” Vena asks, raising an eyebrow.

Aelynthi folds his arms.

“Probably the second one, I mean, bro  _wanted_  a drink,” Thenvunin blithely declares. “And no one else was doing it, and someone has to or else who’ll go next? Aelynthi, you’re up to bat.”

There are some blinks, but before anyone can press the issue, Aelynthi clears his throat.

“Never have I ever slept with a professor,” he says.

Inquiry snorts, and Splendour sighs and takes a shot. Then he has to deliberate again, as Adannar tries to nod encouragingly at him, and Tasallir just gets up and leaves. Ignoring Vena’s protestations and cajoling as he essentially swans out of the room. Thenvunin fidgets with his shirt sleeves, and glances at Uthvir, and then strips the whole thing off.

No one really pays it much mind.

“Never have I ever slept with someone in the military,” Splendour finally offers. 

Aelynthi glares.

“Are you singling me out?” he demands.

“You want to drink!” Splendour shoots back, shifting and then wincing a little.

Thenvunin frowns down at his glass.

“Do they have to have been in the military  _when_  you slept with them, or does it count of they enlisted after?” he wonders.

Uthvir curls a hand around his waist, as this question is debated back and forth before it’s decided that it still counts even if they enlisted after. Probably just so someone other than Aelynthi can drink again. Both of them take a shot, and then it’s Thenvunin’s turn.

He frowns thoughtfully.

“Who’d you do who enlisted, anyway?” Adannar wonders, as he carefully dissuades Flower from getting too close to the drinks.

“My ex,” Thenvunin admits. “Back in highschool.”

Aelynthi scowls cold-blooded murder at a spot on the coffee table, and Uthvir’s expression goes oddly placid, and the temperature in the room seems to drop enough degrees that the topic is pretty much abandoned.

“Never have I ever had sex with a chick,” Thenvunin finally determines.

“Well  _that_  broadens the playing field,” Inquiry quips, and takes a drink, along with Uthvir, and others.

“Not into women?” Splendour asks Thenvunin.

“I like women fine, bro,” Thenvunin replies, with a shrug. “Just never happened to go all the way with one.”

“Do the questions  _have_  to be sexual?” Adannar wonders.

“No,” Aelynthi offers. “Everyone’s just filthy-minded. But they’re usually supposed to be embarrassing, or interesting.”

“I’ll go next,” Inquiry decides, clinking silvery nails against her glass. “Never have i ever cried during sex.”

Splendour sighs, and Aelynthi’s expression sours more towards annoyance. Thenvunin flushes and Uthvir’s placid expression returns full-force, before all four them take their shots.

“ _Uthvir?”_  Vena blurts.

“Fuck off!” Thenvunin snaps, all at once and with enough force that it’s almost a surprise Vena’s hair doesn’t blow back. Then Flower whines anxiously and the topic is dropped, as Adannar crawls onto the floor to deliver tummy rubs and reassure her that Uncle Vena isn’t going to get his throat ripped out by either Uthvir or, in a surprising upset of typical house dynamics, Thenvunin.

“I suppose that makes it my turn,” Uthvir says, with a wry smirk that manages to imply everyone just took that the wrong way. Even though their hand remains firmly curled around Thenvunin.

“Never have I ever taken someone’s virginity,” they settle on.

Aelynthi lets out a long, disparaging sigh, and takes a shot. So does Splendour. Vena looks up at the ceiling and makes a so-so gesture, and then takes one, too. Thenvunin’s brow furrows.

“I’m not sure,” he admits.

“Then don’t drink,” Uthvir advises.

“What’s with the waffling, there, Venavismi?” Inquiry asks, as she stretches out on some nearby cushions.

“I’m not sure if it counts,” he says.

“Not sure they were a virgin, or not sure you successfully deflowered them?” she wonders.

“Well. I mean. I count it for  _me,_  but I’m not sure if she…” Vena deliberates, and then just shrugs. “Whatever. I think it counts. Who’s next?”

“I think you’re up,” Aelynthi says, and sags against Thenvunin’s free side.

“Hmm,” Vena muses, thoughtfully. “Never have I ever… dated someone richer than me.”

“Richness of spirit?” Splendour asks, hopefully.

“No. Money,” Vena insists, and he wobbles just a little as he takes another shot. Uthvir follows suit, and Thenvunin blinks at them.

“Whoa, sig. I thought you said your mother had more money than the Fereldan Treasury?” he asks.

Uthvir shrugs.

“Considering the government’s in debt, that’s not actually hard,” they reply. “But there are definitely some who’ve got us beaten, either way.”

“Okay, okay,” Splendour says, as Inquiry looks a little wistful; like someone who maybe  _wants_ to be dating a Really Rich Person. Or possibly a particular Really Rich Person. “Never have I ever… never… um. Never have I ever had sex with  _two_  dwarves.”

No one drinks.

“I’m proud of us,” Adannar says. “Not that there’d  be anything wrong with a loving dwarven three-way, but still!”

“I guess that means I go next,” Uthvir reasons, still wholly lucid, it seems. “Never have I ever impulsively bought a puppy.”

Adannar gets up off of the floor to take a drink.

“Thanks for thinking of me, sib,” he says, and Uthvir raises their empty glass in acknowledgement. Adannar pats the coffee table contemplatively, as Flower leans against his back.

“Never have I ever finished an entire jawbreaker,” he says.

There’s a pause.

“…That sounds painful,” Splendour notes.

Vena snickers.

“It’s a  _candy,”_  he says. “Not whatever you’re thinking of, bro.”

“Oh!”

Inquiry is the only one who ends up drinking, at that. She takes her shot while Splendour looks like he’s still trying to figure out what kind of sex move the candy’s name might allude to. Her eyes slide over towards Uthvir for a moment.

“Never have I ever dated an Evanuris,” she says.

Uthvir stiffens.

Another awkward silence descends, before they lift up their glass and take a shot.

“Whoa,” Adannar says. “I didn’t know you dated Dirthamen.”

“I didn’t,” Uthvir asserts, and Inquiry smiles, sharply, while Thenvunin looks uncertainly at them.

“It was Andruil, wasn’t it?” the supermodel-esque woman asks. “You’re  _her_  Uthvir. And that means your sibling is Falon’Din’s Glory. I  _thought_  I recognized you.”

“We dat _ed._  Past tense,” Uthvir says, stiffly. Their hand slips down from Thenvunin’s waist. He frowns. “It was highschool. Practically ancient history by now. It barely lasted a week.”

Inquiry frowns, and looks a little perplexed.

“But-”

“Never have I ever taken a shower with someone else,” they say, and get the game firmly rolling again.

A few more rounds and Splendour and Aelynthi, of all people, seem to be struggling with sobriety, with Vena not far behind. Uthvir takes about as many shots as Thenvunin, if on different topics at times, but it doesn’t seem to be catching up to them. Eventually the radius of the cuddle fort begins to spread, and Thenvunin ends up sprawling into Uthvir’s lap, with Aelynthi using him as a pillow, in turn, and Splendour slumping against Vena.

“Never have i ever…” Adannar says, still barely tipsy. “Never have I ever been on television.”

“Fucking…” Aelynthi says, and almost spills his shot onto himself.

Vena blinks over at him.

“Are you, like, secretly famous or something?” he asks.

“You. You stop teasing,” Thenvunin says, levelling his index finger at him. “Bad bro.”

Vena looks legitimately affronted.

“I’m not a bad bro!”

Uthvir runs a hand through Thenvunin’s hair, and makes soothing noises, while Inquiry stares at them and Splendour pats Vena’s thigh.

“Never… dammit,” Aelynthi swears. “Never have I ever… never have I ever shape-shifted something weird in the bedroom.”

There’s a pause.

Everyone looks at Uthvir, as Thenvunin turns bright red, and covers his face with one hand.

“ _Bro!”_  he objects.

“What?” Aelynthi asks, blinking. Then realization seems to dawn, and he swears. “Sorry. I didn’t… I mean, I wasn’t thinking about… specifics…”

Uthvir just shrugs and takes a shot.

So does Splendour.

And Inquiry.

Adannar blinks, and rests his elbows on the coffee table.

“What would be ‘weird’ to shapeshift in the bedroom?” he wonders. “Isn’t that just pretty common for some people?”

Vena gestures vaguely.

“Non-sex parts, I’m thinking,” he says. “Extra hands. Tails. Horns, Wings.”

Aelynthi snickers, and Thenvunin smacks the back of his shoulder.

“Horns are fun,” Inquiry says. “Vashoth have ‘em, too. Handles.” She waggles her eyebrows.

“I knew this one lady, she could manage a prehensile tail,” Splendour says, with a wistful sigh. “Scaly, too. But then she met that Antivan exchange student…”

“That’s rough,” Vena offers, patting him.

“Oh, I like it rough,” Splendour says. Aelynthi picks up a cushion and lobs it at him.

“I’m next!” Inquiry decides. “Never have I ever… eaten someone’s ass.”

Thenvunin goes red all the way through, as Uthvir takes a shot.

The game more or less ends not long after that, with Adannar being declared winner shortly after Splendour passes out. Aelynthi stumbles off to bed with a murmured hope that he won’t remember any of this, and Adannar gets up to go distribute glasses of water to everyone’s rooms so they don’t dehydrate during the night.

Uthvir scoops up Thenvunin, while Vena takes Splendour, and Inquiry watches them from the cushions.

“I’m going to marry Andruil, you know,” Inquiry says, once Vena has gone, and just before Uthvir and Thenvunin clear the room.

Uthvir pauses; their boyfriend slumped in their arms, and resting across their shoulder.

“Good luck with that,” they offer.

“You’re really done with her?” Inquiry checks. “With the gorgeous, wealthy, incomparable heiress?”

“She got bored with me in a hurry,” Uthvir replies. “It took me longer. But in hindsight, I think she was fairly dull, too.”

Up go Inquiry’s eyebrows. Uthvir turns, and finishes carrying Thenvunin to his room.

 

~

 

“Never have I ever taken someone’s virginity.”

Ana stares down at her shot in thought before giving Venavismi a glance. He’s already looking at her. They both share a look before taking the drink at the same time.

Elanna’s face colors, while Vena snorts. Everyone eyes them questioningly.

 

~

 

“So do you really think Andruil actually looked this cool?” Elanna asks, staring up at a statue of the Goddess of the Hunt. “Like, look at her she’s got some really nice muscles.”

“I dunno most of this is just romanticized, so I would imagine she was much different than what is depicted.” Ana just hums in response, and makes her way around to the other sculptures in the sculpture garden. She winces when she comes across sculptures of elves with the points of their ears chopped off. Her hands go up to her ears and she covers them.

“That’s gotta hurt if it actually happened.” Elanna says. Aelynthi looks up from his spot on the bench. His fingers are black from the charcoal and there is a black streak going down his left cheek.

“Yeah, there was a time long ago when they would do that to paintings and sculptures. Not anymore though.” Elanna looks back at him.

“Interesting.” She makes her way back to Aelynthi and looks over his shoulder at his notepad. His fingers move across the surface of the paper in graceful strokes, simulating folds in fabric. He’s sketching a nude sculpture of what the placard names Sylaise. She is lounging with her head thrown back and her hand under her chin. The other hand is resting on her thigh holing cloth that, frankly, hides nothing. Her delicate stone fingers look like they might snap if someone touched them. “I wonder if Sylaise would have wanted herself to be sculpted so scandalously.”

“Couldn’t say. These were made by humans after the second Exalted March during the Glory Age. These sculptures were likely made later in the Towers Age. Maybe even the Black Age.”

“Oh,” is all Ana offers. Aelynthi takes his charcoal covered fingers and swipe them across the bridge of her nose.

~

“They even cut out Shartan’s ears. How rude.” Elanna quips and Aelynthi nods in agreement. They make their way toward more current works of art. There are wall sized paintings of paint drips and splatters in one gallery, and paintings of boxes and squares in other galleries.   
“What’s your opinion on these types of paintings?” Elanna asks.

“I don’t hate them. It’s just that I don’t understand how to read them, sometimes. Paint isn’t my preferred medium so it’s like I’m trying to translate a language I don’t fully comprehend.  Like, I prefer the materiality of things. Like I said I don’t hate them, though. You’re just looking at black lines and boxes of primary colors, but there’s definitely an interesting kind of balance even though red is abundant.” He gestures loosely to the red box on the top right side of painting. “I think I can admire the composition.” Ana gives the painting a thoughtful look and she thinks she sees what he means. She turns around and looks toward the next gallery full of Ready Mades, she thinks Aelynthi called them.

“What about the ready mades?” She asks. Aelynthi follows her gaze. “People tend to get frustrated around them.”

“I see why, but what many fail to understand is that these sculptures were a breakthrough when they first came into the scene. They were made during the War Ages so in a time of chaos where nothing made sense, artists were compelled to do the same. Producing bodies of work they called anti-art.”

“So you approve?”

“I approve, but only of the artists putting out ready mades during that time. If anyone were to try it now, it’d be considered unoriginal. You’d be in the shadow of these artists who came first.”

“Anything can be art, huh?”

“An Antivan artist literally shit in a can once and sealed it. He called it art and it’s on display here. No one knows if he was lying or if it’s true. No one really wants to find out. Especially since it’s been a little over 50 years since.”

Elanna brings her hands over her mouth as she laughs.

 

~

 

“So what? I just sit here?” Elanna asks.

“Yes, please. Don’t move.” Aelynthi tells her. He opens his boxes of colored pastels (not the oily kind) and sets about adjusting himself on the bench.

“What if my hair moves? It’s a little breezy, you know. I wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

“That’s precisely why I want to draw you. Your hair color isn’t common, so I think I want to draw it.” He reaches over and gently drags her hair over her shoulders. A few strands make their way in front of her eyes. He leans back, looks at her. His head tilts to the left, then the right, he reconsiders and reaches over again to move some of her hair to the side. Then his hand falls to her chin and tilts her head. He leans back and smiles in approval.

“Has your hair always been this long?” He asks.

“It was shorter in high school but yeah. I’ve always kept it long,” she tell him. Aelynthi hums and readjusts himself to begin drawing.

“Don’t move your head.” He reminds her. Ana fights the urge to nod and she glances his way as he starts. There’s a graphite stick in his hands as they move in large masterful strokes across the paper. He fixes his gaze on her and his hand starts moving, mapping her features. He doesn’t look at the drawing as he drags the graphite stick in tight lines.

Elanna watches his features change. His nose scrunches up a little and his eyes get all squinty. Sometimes they are intense, and very focused. His gaze begins to alternate between the drawing, to Ana, and back again.

“You’re so stiff,” he tells her. “Relax, you don’t have to look at me, look at the trees if you want. Pay attention to the rustling of the leaves.”

Ana takes the advice. There is a breeze that moves her hair around and her hand twitches. She contemplates bringing her hand to her hair, but Aelynthi hasn’t said anything, and he looks so focused. His fingers are covered in pastel dust and he drags them across his pad. He takes a fluffy brush and brushes some of the dust around.

A while later, he wipes his fingers on a damp cloth and leans back. He looks from the drawing to his friend and adds some finishing touches. He leans back again, and smiles. Pleased with his work, he turns the pad around and Ana’s eyes go wide. He’s captured the movement of her hair in the breeze in large gestural strokes with her eyes a striking green to contrast her red hair, and her freckles under it.

“Holy shit,” she sighs.

 

~

 

Tasallir can feel it.

In his bones.

He does not, for the life of him, know how. Perhaps it is a warning from the universe. But as he hears Thenvunin’s door open, he  _knows._  Even before he sees his fraternity brother turn down the hall. Even before he glimpses him.

His inner fashion critic quails.

He does not know whether to cover his own eyes, or spare poor Serahlin, who seems utterly unaware of the devastation set to pass before them.

Thenvunin walks down the hall in livid orange work-out shorts, with a pair of purple shoes on his feet, and turquoise stud earrings in his ears. His hair tied up into a high ponytail; his torso clad in a tight-fitted, bright turquoise, orange, and magenta tie-dye shirt. With sparkles on it.

_Sparkles._

And  _this_  is a man who claims to be fashionable. Whose own mother makes clothes for highly successful celebrities!

Thenvunin waves towards them, and then jogs out of the front door.

Serahlin looks vaguely dazed.

Tasallir immediately refreshes her morning coffee, and apologizes on behalf of his housemate for subjecting her to such lurid displays so early in the morning. Shameful. He is going to be have Words with Thenvunin, that is for certain.

 

~

 

The first time Inquiry sees Andruil, it’s on one of those sleazy tabloids (that just so happens to have her own name brandished across the cover):

“Billionaire’s Daughter Caught Consorting with Demons!”

There’s a photo of a dark-haired teenage girl, beautiful and brash, scowling at the camera man like she’s just on the verge of siccing said demons directly on them. And someone has clumsily photoshopped in some Hollywood-style creatures around her.

It’s almost  _cartoonish_  in it’s pettiness; but then, tabloids aren’t exactly known for restraint.

Inquiry wonders if she really is consorting with demons. She thinks she might like to be a demon, in that case. Her mother tsk’s and tell her not to waste brain cells looking at filthy trash, and Inquiry hopes she means the tabloid in general, and not teenage elven girls in snazzy combat boots as well; though, with her mother, that might be a tough call.

She spies Andruil a few more times, here are there. More tabloid covers. More internet articles. She’s not considered as  _riveting_  as her little sister, who got their mother’s blonde hair and their father’s charming smile, but she’s still a rich teenage elven girl; that gives the bottom feeders  _plenty_  to work with. It only gets worse after the Evanuris family heir dies tragically young - conspiracy theories run amok, and the ‘journalists’ of the world don’t hold back much, even  _with_  the family likely cracking down on such things.

Her mother sniffs, and says it’s a wonder that it didn’t happen sooner. You can’t trust elves like their lot, Inquiry. They’re not about furthering the nobler purposes of the world. They’re depraved; debauched; greedy. The whole family is digging their own graves.

Inquiry thinks it’s just  _fascinating._  No one really considers empires anymore, but insofar as their is an elvhen empire to be spoken of, the Evanuris family sits at its helm. And the heir-apparent now is the eldest daughter - the other son is an easy write-off, he’s the one who actually  _cries_  at his brother’s funeral - and Andruil is set to ascend her throne with an undercut and a hunting knife strapped to her thigh.

Oh, what an empress she would make.

Inquiry knows it’s one hell of a crush.

She follows it all the way to Ferelden, in the end. Her mother’s thrilled about the scholarship, and the opportunities, the science and studies and ‘baby you can really make a difference!’ But making a difference is her mother’s quest. And other people’s too, she supposes. It’s not ignoble; it’s just not  _Inquiry’s_. Inquiry doesn’t want to change the world. She wants to take it apart, and look at all its composite pieces. She wants to be the court mage, the great advisor, the lauded scientist who sits on a gigantic pile of money and does whatever the hell she wants.

And that would be enough to get her drawn in to this family, and its promising young scions. But the reasonable thing to do would be to focus on her studies, on her career, on proving herself, and then go from there.

She wants Andruil, though. From the first glossy picture she’d seen, of that glaring girl, something in her had gone  _mine._  And she doesn’t care if it’s crazy, or stalkerish, or weird. It’s what she wants.

It might not be what Andruil wants, though. Not much she can do about that, but she can go from there, she thinks. Work things out. She manages to start working her way into the right cliques and circles. She ensnares an elf who knows an elf who knows some people in Dirthamen’s fraternity, who know some people in Andruil’s sorority. She listens to the rumours and scopes out the competition. Pretty. Andruil likes  _pretty_ , which is good, because Inquiry’s got looks to spare.

The first time they meet in person, Inquiry winds her arms around Andruil’s shoulders, as if they’ve always belonged there. Leaning against her at a party, as Andruil laughs and looks over at her. Brows raised, lips curled; until something stalls in her gaze.

“Well hello there,” Inquiry says.

Her future wife blinks rapidly a few times, and then leans back.

“Hello yourself, pretty thing,” Andruil replies.

Perfect.

 

~

 

Adannar is an accidental gossip. Always accidentally overhearing little conversations and worries that his fraternity brothers have. When he offhandedly mentions Thenvunin unsure of wearing a gown, Serahlin knows that she has a little work to do, marvelous work. She had already been planning taking Tasallir to her tailor to get him into something befitting and fashionable, but this little tidbit of information provides her a whole new realm of possibilities: getting Thenvunin to actually dress well. 

It’s not that he doesn’t have a sense…alright, the man is absolutely blind to being actually fashionable, BUT, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t  _want_  to be. 

She arrives at the house around 10 in the morning on a Saturday and lets herself in. Thenvunin sits at the kitchen table, reading the news on his tablet and eating Captain Crunch with Uthvir’s hand on his thigh. 

Serahlin leans against the table and gives him a brilliant smile while Tasallir finishes getting ready.

“Good morning, Thenvunin. Have you gotten your outfit for the Wintersend Ball yet?” She asks. He shifts in his seat and shakes his head.

“Not yet, sis. Still mulling over some design choices.” Meaning that he hasn’t decided if he wants to take the plunge and wear a gown or not. 

“You should come with us today! We’re going to a designer slash tailor to help get Tasallir all properly dressed, you could get some ideas for yourself, if not actually get something. Come on, it’ll be fun!” She says brightly. Tasallir emerges from the other end of the room and scowls. She understands this is supposed to be just her and Tasallir, and he always feels more comfortable when it is just the two of them but….

She walks over to him and lightly touches his hair, smoothing the front strands over his shirt.

“Thenvunin needs some help deciding what to do about the Ball.” She explains, but his expression does not ease.

“The plan was for just us.”

“I know but -

“There isn’t any room for him,” he says and she stops playing with his hair to look up at his face. There is unease at the unexpected and the fear of loss, the chaos of trying to organize another person into something that was originally meant for just them….

She turns back to Thenvunin, “How about we go another time, then? I really think it’ll help.” 

Thenvunin looks at Uthvir as if to ask them their opinion but they shake their head.

“Your decision, babe.” 

He pauses for a moment then asks if she can put the name and number of the tailor in his phone. She complies easily enough, then whisks her friend off to be dolled up for the ball.

**

Tasallir isn’t the biggest fan of darker colors, even though he looks absolutely  _stunning_  in them. And as it happens, he was waffling as well about wearing a gown. And if her friend wants to be pretty in a gown, then her friend will be pretty in a gown.

But he also wants to at least somewhat go with her gown so they don’t look horribly mismatched on the dance floor. She changes into her gown that they have on hand and begin constructing a form-fitting gown of white with a long cape of bubbled-ruffles, with a slightly scalloped feathered collar. His hair is to be pulled back from his face into a long arrangement down his back. 

Perfect, flawless. Tasallir is made for fashion and she peppers him with compliments, making sure to keep his body non-sexualized.

“Look how that seam elongates your leg!”

“You will leave everyone breathless with this!”

“I love how this white is more matte, it will make the shine of your hair really stand out.”

“Stunning, absolutely  _stunning_.” 

He is practically glowing from all the attention at the end. They leave the store with large smiles, deciding to take a late lunch, early dinner at a posh new restaurant nearby. 

It’s all Serahlin’s Mamae’s treat, and if Tasallir has any qualms about it, he keeps silent. Though he does treat her to more smiles than normal. 

“Thank you for allowing me to treat you,” she says when the waiter leaves. 

“You enjoy spending your mother’s money, I see no reason to not take advantage.” He lays the napkin in his lap just as the waiter arrives.

“Hi, I’m Perrin, I’ll be your server today….” and so it goes.

Tasallir splurges and decides on lobster while Serahlin asks for a grilled chicken salad. She needs to keep this figure for the ball after all. 

The food arrives and Tasallir makes a small movement of happiness, nearly imperceptible. But she knows how much he actually  _adores_  food. Especially anything gourmet, how he’s had to train himself to not just scarf things down quickly. Living with a limited diet and not knowing when your next meal is coming from will do that to a person. So she’s developed a sort of…thing for feeding him. She brings him food whenever she can, ranging from little snacks to full blown meals from places she knows he likes. 

Once they finish their meal, she decides that today would be a good day for dessert for him. The menu arrives and she smiles, aha! 

“What do you think of splitting a bowl of tiramisu?” She asks, knowing that he hasn’t had it. 

He sniffs in his usual manner, “That is unhealthy and sharing a bowl is unsanitary.” Right, she should have realized that. She returns to the menu and smiles when she finds it.

“How about cannolis? You can have your own, and they’re not gigantic.”

“The sugar -

“When was the last time you had dessert, Tasallir?” She asks and he pauses. The waiter arrives and she tells him to bring two cannolis. If he doesn’t want his, she can take it home with her to her sisters. 

When the desserts arrive, he eyes the shape and she can see he is debating on how to cut into it. 

“Hands, darling,” Serahlin says, picking her own up and beginning to nibble at the filling and chocolate chips. He scowls at the use of hands but in a wonderful show of adventurousness, he picks it up and takes a hesitant bite. 

His eyes widen at it and he looks at it, touching his lips lightly with his other hand.

He finishes chewing and looks at her, “This is delicious!” 

She giggles and they continue to eat their cannolis, delicately and perfectly. 

By the end of the dinner, Tasallir is warm, happy, and standing closer to her than normal. There are times when she wants to touch him, to just wrap her arms around him and hold him close. These impulses usually happen whenever there are little hints or indications of his life before the university. His eating habits, the way he looks at thread, how he insists on carrying a bag with him everywhere that contains certain things…. She wishes that she and her Memae had decided to visit wherever he was before this, so that they could take him away and give him an actual home, a family. 

“I know that the boys at the house like to call each other ‘bro’ and you’re each other’s brothers…but I want you to know that I consider you my brother as well, Tasallir. I would like to choose you as part of my family, is that alright?” She asks, somewhat nervous to his reaction. His eyes are wide and his hands still. 

“We are already friends, further attachment isn’t necessary.” 

“Perhaps, but it is wanted. If you are comfortable with it, we can leave it alone.” She offers quietly. His eyes shut and his lips tremble. 

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I would not offer otherwise. Loving you and wanting you as part of my family is not an obligation,  _you_  are not an obligation, but a choice. A choice that I gladly and wholeheartedly wish to make, if you allow me.”

He can say no, he can say that he appreciates her offer but will politely decline. And she will understand, it won’t change how she feels, but she will not press him. 

Tasallir raises his head and looks at her, beautiful red eyes glassy with emotion. He opens his mouth only to close it and give a small smile before nodding. His hand trembles as it reaches for hers. She tentatively takes his hand, curling her finger around the back of his hands.

He only manages to say one thing, but his voice is clear and steady, “ _Thank you.”_

_**_

Serahlin and Tasallir are inseparable as they can be for the next few days. They do each other’s hair, gossip about people on campus, and he even tries out calling her “sister” at some point only to shake his head and say that he prefers using her name. She doesn’t mind. He helps her perfect her contouring while keeping her vallaslin visible.

She calls him ‘Lethallin” multiple times, and each time he looks that much happier. She is his family, his clan, and she chose him.

Halfway through the week, Serahlin receives a text from Thenvunin. It’s full of emojis but she can decipher the general meaning. He’s interested in seeing her tailor!

She picks him up on a Friday afternoon, which is somewhat surprising, Uthvir usually likes to take him out on Fridays. 

“They’re helpin’ a bro out with some dance moves,” Thenvunin explains.

“I heard about the dance in the quad! I hear their wings are stunning.” Which is…not a complete lie. She had heard no end of  _Glory’s_  wings, and relatively little on Uthvir’s.

“Oh sis, you should’ve seen them! The way they  _moved!”_ It’s adorable really, seeing how gone Thenvunin is on Uthvir. How he thinks of them, how he wants to be with them. 

Serahlin nods, “I can imagine. My memae is a shape shifter and loved to put on some wings. She would would shimmy and these great pink flamingo wings would appear. When we visited Arlathan one summer, she shifted, picked me and flew me all over the city to see it like a bird. It was…amazing.” She had been terrified of heights before that trip, but she hadn’t told Memae about it yet when she had swooped down, picked little Serahlin up and went high into the sky. 

To this day it remains one of her favorite memories. She remembers her memae cresting down to land and being received by a warm, happy, pregnant Mamae.

Thenvunin gasps then makes a little noise that she thinks may be of jealousy. 

They talk about birds for the rest of the drive, occasionally drifting back to the topic of Uthvir’s wings. Thenvunin’s blushing by the time they get out of the car.

They head inside and are greeted by a nervously smiling man who quickly ushers Thenvunin into the back and hands him off to be measured. 

Wade is a quirky man, but one that adores fashion and challenges even more so. He inspects Thenvunin silently before pulling away with a gigantic smile.

“Serahlin, you have brought me a beautiful specimen! Look at him! The perfect combination of classical elven beauty, clashing with the modern ideals of masculinity! I love it!” He claps excitedly. Thenvunin blushes and rubs at his biceps self-consciously before standing a bit straighter. 

But then Niander looks down and nearly faints, “But the feet  _have to go_.”

Thenvunin blanches in horror before she steps in, “He just means you need a pedicure.”

“Now what were you thinking? A suit or something more along the lines of what Serahlin’s friend, Tasallir, went with?” Wade asks while producing a sketchpad. 

“Wait, what’s my bro wearing?”

“A beautiful snow-white gown and cape, absolutely stunning. A shame so few men appreciate the beauty and confidence it takes to wear a gown.” 

Thenvunin pauses and looks over at Serahlin, eyes wide. She smiles and winks at him and he blushes.

“A…gown.” He finally answers.

“Marvelous!”

One of the assistants arrive with a platter of glasses full of champagne. Ah, yes, Champagne Fridays. They each take one and toast before beginning.

**

Halfway through the appointment and several glasses of champagne later, and Thenvunin is testing out different fabrics to see which one he prefers. He already has some knowledge, thanks to his mother, but he’s never had quite this much fabric on him in this fashion. He’s currently trying on a pale blue silk chiffon number that moves effortlessly with him. It’s not fitted to him, and has too much room in the hips, and comes a little short, but he is  _loving_ it. 

Serahlin’s phone buzzes just as Thenvunin begins to walk around. She looks down to see a text from Uthvir.

_How’s it going?_

She grins and switches her phone over to video, she can  _show_  them how it’s going. 

“Thenvunin! Give me your best runway walk!” She goads. He hurries to the other end of the room, then lifts his head high into the air. She presses the start recording button just as he begins to sashay through the space. 

“Work it, Thenvunin!” She calls. He flips his hair when he gets close to her and walks back just as sassy. She’s giggling by the end when she presses the button again. She sends it to Uthvir with a message that everything is going splendidly. 

**

The design they settle on is absolutely gorgeous, which…Serahlin is a little surprised about. It’s a floor length, deep purple gown with layers of silk chiffon for the skirt, detailed with small beads and crystals, while the torso is mostly sheer with a deep V-neck and more beading. A separate feathered cape is to be constructed as well. It drapes around his shoulders and goes to about mid-back, giving him the appearance of having shining metal wings. 

Serahlin also manages to convince him that he should wear his hair  _up_  with all these beautiful pins to keep it in place. 

He is beaming by the end of the appointment, somewhat free of the regular bro-like speech pattern he uses when on campus. He gushes about the cape and the purple and quickly turns his attention to “oh no!  _Shoes!”_ But she tells him that she has another person for that if he’s interested.

He is.

She takes him home, where Uthvir is waiting and wastes no time in pulling him to them. They give Serahlin an appreciative nod and quickly usher him to his room.

Serahlin shakes her head affectionately as she makes to step away. But Adannar is returning from a walk with Flower, smiling as he bounds up to her.

“Hey, you up for a movie?” He asks, and she agrees.

**

On Tuesday, she gets another text from Uthvir. 

_I apparently have nothing “appropriate” to wear to the Ball._

She smiles and rolls her eyes. What is she? A fairy godmother for these people and clothes? 

_Would you like to set up an appointment with Wade?_

As it so happens, Uthvir agrees, which…is a bit odd, but she doesn’t question it. She tells Wade to prepare every scrap of red fabric he has and not to be too put off by requests for spikes when next week she brings Uthvir. 

Wade is floored by them, of course, rattling on about compact beauty before he begins to toss out different kinds of fabric for Uthvir to decide on. They settle on a burgundy that was heavily influenced by Wade knowing exactly how Thenvunin’s gown is going to turn out. 

“I am thinking…a black shirt with a matching tie, and these cuff-links,” he shows them shiny, silver spiked cuffs links and Uthvir nods. They’re paired with a shining, dark burgundy two button suit coat with a low V to elongate them. 

“Do you need to check to see if it matches your wings?” She asks at one point, but they shake their head.

“No, I know what they look like, and this should be fine.”

“DO NOT USE THE F-WORD IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT!”

**

By the end of it all, Serahlin feels exceptionally accomplished at styling three of her friends. Uthvir is…pleased enough, she believes. They’re harder for her to read than most, but they’re not sulking or frowning, so she takes that as a positive sign. 

She falls asleep that night, pleased and exhausted at a job well done. They’re all going to be  _so beautiful!_

The next day she gets a text from Dirthamen.

_I understand you have contact with a skilled tailor. May have the name and address?_

She shakes her head and giggles. This is going to be wonderful.

 

 


End file.
